Who, How, When, Where, Why?
by lorcris
Summary: Four men get involved in a rescue mission, where nothing is what it seems. It's a Danny Taylor story set in an alternative universe…or… actually, it's not. It's also a story for Jason, Patrick and Alex; Tony, Miguel, Javier and Diego. Sometimes it's a story for Jack and Martin, and occasionally for Sam and Vivian. Set close to the end of season two of Without a Trace.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Who, how, when, where, why?**

**Author's Note: **These sorts of things probably wouldn't happen in the real world. This is what fiction is about, fantasy…maybe…who knows. Pay attention to the dates, there are just a few flashbacks but the story changes in time and places… and it's bilingual, even though you won't notice it, at all. If you want to read more of the main character, Danny Taylor, be patient, it's all there, even though you don't see it yet. I hope you enjoy the story.

**CHAPTER 1**

**Washington D.C. **

**April 23, 2005**

The call came from his boss; from a phone number that he only used under special circumstances. It was his personal cell phone. When that happened, he stopped everything that he was doing and devoted all his time to the orders his boss gave him, even though nobody noticed.

Following his boss' instructions, the meeting, if they could call it that, with the Area Director of the CIA took place with the utmost secrecy.

He left work at nine o'clock as he said goodbye to several coworkers and pulled out his card as he entered the elevator. He registered his departure but ignoring the main exit, he headed toward the stairs and quickly walked down toward the parking lot. Ignoring the front exit, he left the building through a back door exit. Walking several feet, to a neighboring building, he once again forewent the front entrance and instead entered the supermarket through a back entrance. It wasn't a regular supermarket, although it would appear that way to regular citizens coming into the store. What made the supermarket unique was that all of the employees at the market were, in reality, all working for the CIA. The store was just a front to hide to the fact this was just one of the multiple hidden offices the Central Intelligence Agency had around the country.

Taking a shopping cart, he put down some groceries. Since it was late, there weren't many people in there, so it wasn't difficult to recognize the man that came into the supermarket several minutes later, looking distractedly. Asking something to an employee, he headed to the place that the employee pointed at, as well as he did with the shopping cart. The man asked the store employee a question and the employee pointed toward a nearby corner, both heading in the same direction, one man with his shopping cart and the other man cleverly disguised as an employee.

He was only recognizable because of the description he had given to him when they spoke on the cell phone; that cell phone. Taking a package of cookies from the shelf, the man put it in his shopping cart and after taking several loaves of bread he left the supermarket.

He stayed behind a bit longer to buy some groceries that he actually needed. After paying for the groceries, he left the supermarket and took a cab back home.

He would have to take a flight or two, he deduced, after looking over the documents that his boss had hidden inside the bag of cookies and then placed in his shopping cart. Why was there so much precaution? he wondered. The news he'd received was that they'd lost control over the group that had been working undercover on the island for several years. Now, they didn't know what was happening over there, who was trustworthy and who wasn't. Taking the picture of Andrés Miranda, a member of that group now imprisoned in 'Santiago de Cuba', a city located sixty-two miles from the naval base of Guantánamo Bay, the safest place for any American on the island. From what he read in the documents, the CIA, FBI, NSA and the military were all interested in Andrés Miranda or the information that he could give them to clear up any doubts about what was really happening over there. They wanted him in the United States as soon as possible for reasons that were not disclosed in the documents that he was reading. Surely, all of them wanted to take the credit for getting Miranda out of the island. He had a name for it, a big black hole. Clicking his tongue as he read, he learned that several informants were talking about the beatings that he was receiving in prison, and even though they couldn't confirm the information, the possibility was actually very real. He noticed that no more than twenty people would know about the secret operation, a secret even to those in the CIA. Miranda was one of their owns and they had to get him out of there as soon as possible. Realizing the characteristics of the person he had to look for, he understood the meaning of it. 'Sons of a bitches', he thought, knowing he was included in the insult.

Searching for someone completely new to lead that mission was a big risk. He was experienced in searching profiles, but the problem was the time he needed but didn't have. Not even the person he'd choose had enough time to prepare the mission. He clicked his tongue again. The situation didn't look good. He would have to work fast but he knew where to look. Opening the laptop, he gained access to the restricted database and began the search immediately. The surveillance equipment wouldn't be a problem; he was used to installing cameras, tapping phones and retrieving data from a computer easily, but he had to determine his objective fast.

Forty-eight hours later, he had found eight people he considered enough to investigate. Once he rejected two of them, the third one would get a beating in a boxing ring four days later.

**Santiago de Cuba**

**March 20, 2005**

It had been a year since the American government had begun to combat the entry of drugs into the country that were being smuggled in from the Dominican Republic, a percentage that was eight percent of all the cocaine that was distributed throughout the entire territory, according to the latest DEA reports. However, sometimes the problem came from within themselves.

Guantánamo Bay had become, for some people, a perfect place to transport goods that gave them lucrative benefits. Every day, a patrol vehicle from the naval base, made its usual round of surveillance. But on the nights of the new moon, the patrol shift was reserved for a specific group that would do something else besides their usual surveillance.

The transfer of the goods was done in a previously agreed point out in the open sea. Carefully hidden inside the boat, the three soldiers came back to the base, where a vehicle was waiting for them. There, the goods were examined and divided. Most of them were sent to the airport that usually took off for the United States. As soon as they arrived, other agents examined and distributed all the merchandise, taking apart the cocaine bags and putting them into delivery vans. Nobody would guess that a transport under Government custody contained so much drugs. That business had worked for years and the people involved including CIA agents, militaries, in the island and the United States was now at risk of disappearing, since one of those men, learned who was actually the big boss from the United States and decided to take advantage; something that never should have happened.

….

Andrés Miranda carefully examined the packages he had placed in his van some time before. He didn't hear Clara's footsteps approaching him, but he felt her arms around his waist and her playful fingers further down his body to his center. The heat was suffocating and his body was still sweaty from the work he had been doing. This time, the packages of cocaine that had been left behind on the island, would last for several months. But Andrés Miranda didn't want to keep playing the drug business anymore. One of the reasons for him wanting to quit the drug business was the woman standing beside him, whispering in his ear, toying with his emotions, turning him on the way only she knew how. She smiled as she noticed his body's response and continued soothing his entire body, touching the more sensitive parts of his body, where he liked the most, as she enjoyed his well-defined torso and the way his breath came out in pants. When Andrés turned to her and grabbed her t-shirt, all Clara could do was raise her arms in anticipation, as the clothes were strewn about. The passionate kisses, the way his fingers touched every crevice of her body, making her shiver violently when he held her in his arms and lay her down on the floor on top of the blanket that just minutes before had held the packages of cocaine. They removed their clothes before focusing on each millimeter of their bodies, finding the harmonious pace that would lead them to reach the ecstasy they so desired.

Clara curled up beside him and laid her face on his chest. Her face moved as it followed the rhythm of his breath as his breathing returned to normal. All the while, she slid her fingers over his torso and down his belly button, once again gliding her hand further down.

After a while, he began stirring again and Clara sighed. "Have you talked to him?" She asked as Andrés stood up and began staring at the packages of cocaine that they would have to distribute in the next several days. He didn't like to keep so much drugs in that small warehouse; someone could find out and get him into serious trouble.

"Yes," He replied.

"What did he say?" She asked anxiously.

"He'll make it work," He replied.

The conversation hadn't exactly turned out that way. Andrés knew enough to make his departure possible. However, Clara's exit wouldn't be possible at the same time, to avoid any suspicions, he had been told. He understood that, even though it was a risk they should have taken. But he wasn't willing to risk too much when it came to Clara leaving. If his request for her to depart the island wasn't met, he was going to sing like a canary. That was the game he had agreed to, only to inform about his recent investigation. He was forty-one years old, and had lived the last fifteen years of his life on the island, even though this job he was doing, had only began two years earlier.

"What about me? You're going to take me with you, aren't you? Carlos will be so happy to see me."

Carlos Torres, Clara's brother, was one of the contacts in Florida, responsible for the shipments that arrived there. He had left the island six years earlier and Clara hadn't seen him since.

"Yes, of course. But we won't leave together, Clara; it's too dangerous. But you will leave this island because I won't leave you here," He said, trying to keep his eyes on her. It was difficult for him to lie to her; in actuality, he didn't know what was going to happen with Clara. At that moment, it was difficult to trust someone that had been forced to do something under the threat of being exposed as a member of the group. Falling in love with her had been a mistake and his heart became troubled in a sea of doubt.

"How are you going to do it without arousing suspicion from the other? You know they'll ask. And, when are you doing it? That guy telling you that he'll make it work and take care of everything, I think he's just telling you what you want to hear."

"No, he won't, it concerns him." Miranda remained thoughtful. "Hey, is your cousin Luis still in prison?"

"Yes…that son of a bitch…" she began but suddenly stopped as she realized what Andrés was implying. "Why do you ask?" She said fearfully.

….

**Santiago de Cuba**

**July 9, 2005**

Miguel nervously read the documents he was handed, making sure that everything was correct. No mistake or doubt was detected. The military soldiers and CIA agents helping them in the evacuation of the American spy had done a perfect job. He kept his documents and handed Tony his own papers who then put them into his bag. On the other side, the two soldiers dressed in Cuban police uniforms, looked over with Diego and Javier the file with their arrest and imprisonment in Santiago de Cuba, where Andrés Miranda was imprisoned. The van drove fast, leaving behind the Guantánamo base and nobody took into consideration the exhaustion or the terrible potholes on the highway. It had been less than twenty-four hours since they had left New York and headed toward Miami where they then took a military plane to Guantánamo Bay. Now, they were crossing the National Highway that led them toward the city of Santiago.

After stopping two blocks from the residence for Tony and Miguel, the group split up and the only ones left were the two soldiers, Javier and Diego and they continued their journey. Even though he knew that they had back up, Javier was gripped by fear and was fighting hard against it, as he noticed Diego's calm demeanor. Of course, Diego was a CIA agent and he wasn't used to those covert operations anymore. The memory of a smiling Laura was quickly replaced by Eleanor's and his eyes moistened. Noticing a hand on his shoulder, he tried to calm down. "Calm down, Javier, nothing is going to happen to you." Diego whispered in such a convincing tone that Javier couldn't help but believe him.

Making certain one last time that the small transmitter hidden inside his shoe was functioning correctly, Diego and Javier got ready to represent their paperwork to the prison workers.

Ignoring Diego's advice, Javier didn't stop shivering the entire morning. None of the exercises they had practiced for, while they prepared for their mission, seemed to work out and he felt ashamed. After the usual ritual of showering and being dressed in prison clothing, the only thing Javier still had were his shoes, although he'd lost his shoelaces when he'd changed. Now, in the small cell, four pairs of eyes scrutinized him from head to toe. Observing his bunk, which he fortunately shared with Diego, he was doubtful that it was at all comfortable. Just like he thought, it wasn't comfortable at all. The springs on the old mattress were worn out from years of use and the thin mattress that sat on it was enough to make him realize that his back would suffer because of it.

Nobody said much but Diego seemed to know something about the rules and how to act in prison, which made him wonder if Diego had spent time in prison before. The first day was the worst, he tried to remember, as he attempted and failed to get any sleep that night. That was strange to him, especially considering the fact that they had spent so many hours awake.

The following morning, Diego and Javier devoted their time to locating their target, which wasn't an easy task with a prison yard full of inmates. They weren't allowed to ask any questions. They, instead, had to remember the photograph that they'd been shown, in order to look for him that way.

Javier feared that his face would be disfigured by the beatings, which according to recent reports, had occurred and would cause the man to be unrecognizable. However, after searching for a while, he finally saw Diego talking to someone. Although he didn't get too close to them, he kept his eyes on both men as they talked. Without a doubt, it was definitely their target. At first sight, their target didn't seem badly injured, which caused him to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

Diego approached Javier a while later and in a concerned voice asked, "How is he?"

"He's better than I thought. We'll get him out soon and that'll be good news for us," He said. "He's going to talk to the two guys he shares the cell with so they can switch with us. That way, you'll be able to examine him and evaluate his condition."

"What if he's not well?" Javier asked. "I don't see how I could gain access to the infirmary."

"You won't do it, so don't worry about it. Everyone here has their contacts. We don't need those contacts because we have Miranda and he'll be our backup."

"Did you decide that beforehand or are you improvising?" Javier asked incredulously.

"For better or worse, prisons work more or less following the same rules," Diego replied.

"Have you been in prison before?"

"No, but I do know someone who's been in one before." Diego replied.

The bandages and disinfectants appeared under his bed, as if by magic, in the cell they shared with Andrés Miranda. That made it easier to treat Miranda's condition; the hidden bruises, the cuts and he also tightly wrapped a bandage around his torso after realizing that there was a possibility of a broken rib. The injuries weren't life-threatening, he thought, not letting his mind wander further, though.

Miranda looked skeptically at Diego, but he answered the question. "The van comes in once a week, they unload and load the clothes and then leave. This place is always under surveillance and there isn't a crack in the process."

"Are the prisoners involved in that process?" Diego asked with interest.

"Yes, of course. During different shifts, the prisoners have to do the laundry," Miranda grimaced.

"I get it. Is that where they caused that?" Diego asked pointing at his bandaged torso.

Miranda nodded.

"Tell me the entire process. I want to know how the van looks, what time they arrive and how long it takes them here,"

"I thought you'd just take me out," Miranda was confused, but happy about having had that idea. Surely, Clara had talked aloud about his conditions and the information had reached the man.

"We can't, we've got specific orders on how to do this. You have to trust me, Andrés. As soon as my partner gives the okay, you'll leave. When is the next change of clothes?"

"Eh… on the fifteenth,"

"Great, make sure to make arrangements so that you'll have laundry duties that day. But for now, introduce me to the guys who broke your ribs."

"Do you know what you're asking for?" Miranda asked alarmed.

"I know what it means. I told you trust me," Diego replied.

Miranda swallowed hard. He knew Luis García, Clara's cousin well and he knew they had an agreement about the beatings, in order to alert those who would be responsible for getting off of the island. But he couldn't tell García that the guy was a CIA agent. He would simply kill him. He'd never betrayed a coworker that way, if he didn't deserve it. However, Diego seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.

That night, Diego carefully removed the highly sensitive transmitter from his shoe and approaching the farthest corner of the wall, he began whispering all of the information that Miranda had given him. When he finished, a barely noticeable _**beep**_ confirmed that his message had been received.

**Santiago de Cuba**

**July 15, 2005**

Miguel climbed out of the van with a form to give the guard, as he was used to do it regularly. "Are you new?" The guy asked.

"Yes, Sir," Miguel replied, showing the man his id.

"Leave the clothes over there," The guard pointed toward a corner. "And load those."

"All right," Miguel replied, and with Tony's help they began to unload the clothes.

"Hey, can you help me?" Miguel asked one of the prisoners in the laundry room, it was none other than Andrés Miranda.

"Sure," He replied somewhat nervously. He wondered if he wouldn't suffocate to death while hidden under so many clothes.

Forty minutes later, the van stopped on the side of the road. Quickly, Tony and Miguel got out and opening the back door, helped Miranda to get out. The man was breathless but well. A support car was waiting for them few miles ahead. Without saying a word, they got Miranda into the car and drove away quickly, after getting rid of the laundry clothes and truck they'd used to get him out of the prison.

They didn't have a lot of time before someone noticed Miranda's disappearance, which meant that other people would notice his disappearance as well. Hopefully, by that time, Andrés Miranda would be safe in Guantánamo base.

Three hours later, Tony and Miguel were back at home, realizing nobody had noticed anything yet. The plan was working out well and they had a week before they had to work on the second phase of the plan. It was at that time that Tony met Clara…or was Clara meeting Tony?

Meanwhile, two short calls with the same words but very different meaning, talked about Miranda's escape from prison. "It's done, boss."


	2. Chapter 2

WHO, HOW, WHEN, WHERE, WHY?

**CHAPTER 2**

**Columbia Heights, Washington D.C. **

**March 2, 2006**

The cab he had taken at Ronald Reagan Airport stopped in front of the house, at Columbia Heights. "The house has a backyard if you need to get out," The cab driver, who was actually a National Security agent, informed. He was the only contact they'd have for the next several weeks ahead. "Here are the instructions that you need to follow. Open and read it. Let me know if you have any doubts," He continued as he handed him an envelope.

Reading quickly the document he found inside the envelope, he memorized it and put it in the envelope again, then handed it back to the agent. "It's okay," He commented in Spanish.

"You should start talking English. We're in Washington," The agent replied. "If you have any question, this is the time to ask."

"When will the others arrive?"

"In the next hours, but don't worry about it. Everyone has their own key. Get some rest, you'll feel better."

'Sure', he thought as he exited the vehicle. He felt the key inside his pants pocket, the only thing he had apart from the clothes he had been given in the military base at his arrival. He was hungry even though he was aware that his stomach wouldn't welcome any food at the moment.

He grimaced in pain while opening the door and turned back to see the cab leaving.

At first sight, the two-story house looked large and comfortable.

Closing the door, to his right, he found the alarm system and he disarmed it, punching in the numbers he had memorized, from the instructions several minutes earlier. Then, he went upstairs to the second floor and went into what would be his bedroom. Opening the dresser, he found a new cell phone, a laptop, the battery chargers and a box containing the personal files of the entire team and a gun similar to what he usually used. Checking the magazine, he realized it was empty but he remembered the box of ammunition he'd found in the dresser. He put everything on a desk and took the cell phone. A shiver ran down his spine realizing how close he was to the end. He'd have to wait though, since both the laptop and cell phone batteries were completely discharged. Instinctively, he connected them to the chargers and switched them on. Tony would work on the technical details later.

Leaving his bedroom, he checked the rest of the house, the room placements and the exits. He observed similar items in the other bedrooms, similar content in the dressers and clothes enough for the four of them; new clothes, he realized. Work stuff, cleaning products in the individual bathrooms, everything basically new and impersonal. Every room had wide windows to the backyard, so they could open them without being noticed by anyone. He remembered the shutters he'd seen from the outside of the house, but now he realized that they were fake.

Going back downstairs, he wondered how many people had lived in the house before them, even though the place appeared to be new. The wide living room and kitchen offered everything they could need to stay comfortable, having a well-defined area for work.

Heading to the kitchen, he opened the fridge to find just a few things, some fruit, water and a pack of beers. Opening the cupboards, he found some cereals and dried fruits. Miguel would be very displeased at the lack of hamburgers, he thought.

The four of them were very close and he was proud of the team that he had created. However, he was worried about the problems of living together they would have to deal with. He was responsible for keeping everyone calm. Thinking about it, he opened the fridge and took the pack of beers out, leaving it on the table. 'Later' he thought, he'd take care of it later. Now, he was tired.

Taking out a pill he had been given at the military base, he helped himself to some water and swallowed it. It'd help to ease his pain and allow him to sleep for some time.

Coming back to the only place he would be able to get some privacy, his bedroom, he took off his t-shirt and loosened the belt before lying on the bed without bothering to remove the covers. It only took several minutes before he was profoundly asleep. It was 10.00 am.

…

Javier Santos leaned on the opened door and remained observing his colleague for a while. It was probably the first time he'd gotten some somewhat peaceful sleep in weeks. Even though the mission had been perfect, his boss had assumed a complicated role in the prison and now he would have to do his job. As a doctor, his implication in the mission, at first, was taking care of Andrés Miranda's health. Andrés Miranda, an American spy detained in a Cuban prison, who needed to be evacuated as soon as possible. The delicate state of health, the reports from the Agency said he was in, had precipitated the events, making the intervention of his extraction, immediate. So, the plan Diego Hernández, operation's boss, had prepared, was fortuitous, even though he had to suffer longer than initially thought, and more dangerous than they thought, those beatings. But getting Miranda out safely was top priority. Looking at Diego now laying on the bed, his exposed back showing the recently suffered cuts and bruises, he remembered his calm demeanor, enduring the pain those sadists had inflicted on him for the months they had remained in prison. It was a calm that had been only broken the day before their exit and had put at risk the entire rescue operation. He couldn't blame him for not keeping control, when he saw him walking to the cell, flinched over his stomach, groaning and letting the tears rolled down his face uncontrollably, after being beat up especially hard that day. It was almost as if they'd sensed that it would be the last time they could abuse him that way. Santos wondered if at some point, Diego Hernández, had anticipated that suffering.

Trying not to make any noise, he headed to what would be his bedroom and like his boss had done previously, he connected the cell phone and laptop that he found in the dresser. Stepping into the bathroom, he stared at the image of himself that the mirror returned, a very different image of him from eight months ago when he was still in the United States preparing for that mission. At forty five years old, the ex-marine hadn't experienced those feelings for years, but the adrenaline had been back as it had been only a few hours since the last mission. He opened the medicine cabinet near the sink looking for scissors and razor to shave his long beard, but he didn't find any. A good shave was a matter of surviving for him, surely for his colleagues as well.

With a look of disgust on his face, he left the room and stepped down, heading out of the house, to the backyard. Distractedly, he grabbed the basketball and tried some baskets. But he was tired and hungry. And he had a terrible headache. He wondered how long they would be forced to stay in that house. He had observed the rooms and the windows and had made a mental list of what lied ahead. He wondered if Miguel, but especially Tony, would be able to deal with the pressure.

Being the youngest member of the group, at twenty-five years old, Miguel Dorta had proven his expertise in dealing with explosives and forged documents, becoming an essential asset during the operation to free Miranda. His military training, commitment and seriousness, had surprised Santos, even though Diego seemed to know exactly how the behavior of each one would be, so he wasn't surprised by it. Tony was another matter and his romance with Clarita Torres during the time he spent in the island, had made Diego furious as soon as he learned about it.

Thinking about it, he went into the kitchen and opened the bag he had left on the table, beside a pack of beers. He picked up a small first aid kit and realized that it contained all of the stuff he could need to treat his boss' injuries and any that could arise. The first aid kit was courtesy of the medical services team from the Guantánamo base, where they had arrived three nights ago.

At the rate, Miranda should've been in the United States for several months. 'I hope the guy would deserve it', he thought, putting some things in the fridge. Taking a still cold beer and keeping the others in the fridge, he walked to the soft couch and picking up the remote, he welcomed the routines they would live by for the next weeks. 'Five weeks, at least', the National Security agent disguised as the cab driver, had told him. An eternity.

….

The scolding Diego had given to him was still very present in Tony's mind, once he learned about Clarita Torres. But to him, who had spent most of his life under a constant stress caused by a demanding job, staying unnoticed and becoming one of the best hackers at the moment, but also developing a serious business of videogames, life in the old building with four floors, two bathrooms and one telephone for all the members of the five families living in there, was a new experience for him. In a place where the word 'privacy' didn't exist and everyone helped each other by sharing whatever they could need, Clarita had become the closest person to him and, even though he always had in mind his real job, he couldn't help but fall in love with that young woman who saw in him the young and handsome electrician he pretended to be, and never suspected he was actually a sort of spy.

Nothing to do with Tony's wishes, to be back at his old and stressful life, nothing to do with the experience he was living since the moment he received that strange letter from the CIA. Fearful that his activities as a hacker had been discovered, Tony learned the real reasons for his recruitment very soon. A mission that required a completely new team, clearly unrelated to the Agency, and he couldn't help but match the profile they were looking for. The CIA had an extensive report about his activities as a hacker…no, they wouldn't let that opportunity go by. From now on, he'd have to be more careful.

'From now on' he thought, feeling the knot on his stomach, as he turned the key to open the door of his new home. His instructions were clear. To make sure the laptops and cell phones were functioning properly and connect to their contact in the United States, someone he hadn't ever met but was surely Diego's boss. What for? He didn't know, but he suspected his boss would know something.

As soon as he went in the house, he realized that the TV was on and saw the silhouette of someone resting on the couch, still holding the remote in their hands. Like Santos, Tony was going to give in to the tiredness after the long journey and the tension of the events lived during the last several hours. Remembering his orders, he headed up to what would be his room, a large bedroom with a bathroom, a very comfortable place, he thought. Going into the bathroom, he opened the sink faucet and instinctively realized the abundance of the water flowing, making him think of one of many jobs he'd had to do when he was on the island. Yes, he'd been a plumber too, but he made a better electrician. Looking at the mirror, he smiled in satisfaction. Clarita done a good job trimming his beard. He'd leave it, as a memory, he decided.

Taking off the clothes, he decided to take a shower, relax his tired muscles and give some much needed comfort to his bones. The technical matter could wait a bit longer, he thought.

Not much, he decided after he took that shower, got dressed again and checked the inside of his dresser. He wondered how they had discerned his size, feeling the uncomfortable truth that his life wasn't a secret for anyone anymore and feeling that he was watched all the time. Taking the cell phone and laptop, he went downstairs and placed them on the table in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he observed with distaste that it was nearly empty. Taking, instead, a cereal box he found in the cupboard, he began working on what he loved most. Connecting the cell phone to the laptop, he began to examine the inner workings of both things, while they were still on and charging.

It didn't take long to find the right connections and the codes that would open the doors of the Central Intelligence Agency and with that, their first contact in the return back home. Anxious, he waited but nothing happened. The computer went black and that was all. Sighing, he figured that maybe it was soon to receive some type of signal. Disappointed, he left the laptop and cell phone and went out to the backyard. Looking at the barbecue grill incredulously, he wondered how they were going to get food, if they weren't allowed to leave the house at any time. Deciding to forget how hungry he as, he tried playing basketball, pretending to be playing with someone else one on one, his game interrupted only when he noticed the smiling figure of Miguel Dorta leaning against the door.

….

Miguel had long ago abandoned the military posture he'd adopted constantly during the first days of training g and Diego him ordered to change completely. However, his job during the entire operation was pretty similar to the one he was fully trained in. An expert in explosives, the hobby came with a family tradition, even though in a very different place. From one to the other, fairs were good places to work with fireworks. He drove across the country with his uncle and aunt, following a family tradition of pyrotechnics. Having learned everything from them, once they died, explosives had become his profession and where he considered his home, the army.

Miguel felt happy to be back and even though he was aware of the time he was going to spend in that house before restarting his normal life, he didn't fear the weeks of confinement that he had to spend with his colleagues. Actually, he had done something similar in the army and that house looked to be very comforting. The sounds from the television and the basketball in the backyard told him he wasn't the first one to arrive. The figure on the couch and the soft snoring from Santos made him smile as he carefully went toward the backyard. There, concentrated on some imaginary game, he found Tony, whom he had shared most of the time with on the island, becoming the only witness of the romance between his friend and Clara Torres.

A painful gesture crossed his face as he caught the basketball that Tony threw at him. His hand still had some of the wounds he got from manipulating the explosives he'd used to keep the attention of the Cuban guards away from them, as they entered the military base.

"Hey", He greeted. "Has the boss arrived?" He asked.

Tony shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't seen him. Maybe he won't come. Have you noticed the fridge?"

Noticing his gesture, Miguel deduced that it was empty. Ignoring the tone he had referred to Diego Hernández, he remembered the bag he'd been given. "Don't worry, I've got the groceries."

Raising an eyebrow, Tony exclaimed, "What are you waiting for?" Dropping the basketball Miguel had thrown to him and both friends went into the house.

"Did they tell you anything?" Tony asked, taking out the groceries from the bag that Miguel had brought.

"No," Miguel replied, noticing a certain anxiety in his colleague's tone. "Hey Tony, take it easy, all right. This is going to take some time."

"Have you been in this type of situation before? Because I…" Tony started.

"Yes, of course, although it was only during training," Miguel replied. Despite being seven years younger, Miguel controlled the situation much better. He supposed his military training had to do with it and he was worried about his friend. "Listen Tony, from what you told me, I imagine you closed in your room for days, concentrated on some computer project. Am I wrong?"

Tony frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Use all your skills to do your work, I don't think you're going to do exactly what you were ordered, weren't you?" Miguel suggested with a smirk. "I also think you should have a conversation with Diego," he continued serious this time, "about Clara," he added, as he forced himself to skip the 'I warned you'.

"Yes, I guess; if he comes. If we're going to be confined in this place, I won't have an excuse. Damn it!" He muttered.

"Were you serious with Clara?" Miguel asked.

"Yes…no…I don't know. She had something…she was special," Tony frowned upset. "But we weren't there for that," Tony started to become aware of what it could have meant that romance was delaying the simulation of the order to move Javier Santos and Diego Hernández to other prison, manipulating the computers and getting the necessary documents. When he saw the terrible state Diego showed the day of their exit, he was aware for a second time of the risk they had taken in a perfect plan during the first part. Nobody would be able to connect them to the escape of Andrés Miranda and the cover had been absolutely affective.

"But, did you like her or not?" Miguel insisted, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Look, kid, let it go. I'll talk to Diego. I know he deserves an apology."

"Okay," Miguel decided to change the subject. "Um…I'm going to…to go upstairs. The cab driver told me there's a room for everyone…"

"Yeah, a suite with individual full bathrooms, for all for us," Tony smiled nervously. "They have everything we need. Oh, bring down your cell phone and laptop and I'll connect them."

"Sure," Miguel left the kitchen and went upstairs. He knew which of the bedrooms was going to be his room. He went in and found it to be big and comfortable, like the rest of the house. Opening the window, he saw the backyard where he had met Tony, playing basketball. He had figured out that the shutters at the front of the house were fake. In the dresser, he found casual clothes and a suit that caught his attention. The cell phone and the laptop Tony had been talking about were also in the dresser.

He sat down on the bed. He was only twenty-five years old and he was living a hell of a mission. And he liked it, he thought. Maybe he could ask Diego for a recommendation, he was surely an important agent in the CIA, if he saw him again.

Leaving his room, with his cell phone and his laptop, he went back downstairs, where Tony and Javier were chatting friendly. Javier had woken up with the smell of the meal Tony was cooking. It was 4:30 pm and they were hungry.

"How are you, Javier?" Miguel greeted, giving a hug to his colleague.

"How's your hand?" Javier asked, taking his arm and examining it carefully.

"You tell me, doctor," Miguel replied with a smile. "It hurts a bit, but that's all."

"Yes, you just need to be careful that it doesn't get infected. Everything is looking good," Javier agreed. "You were lucky," He added.

"I know," Miguel replied thoughtfully, remembering how his jacket got tangled up to the wire fence, and was too late to move his hand away. "It was stupidity; I could have done it better." He frowned. He hadn't been careful as he usually was, surely because of the tiredness and the difficult route to the base, stopping at every moment to look after Diego and driving slowly to cause less damage to his boss, not telling about skipping the police patrols. The feeling that the mission was going to end had made him precipitate his actions and make some mistakes. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to ask for a recommendation, after all.

Curious, he looked at what Tony was removing. "We've got Chinese food, pizzas in the freezer, some drinks and a gift for the barbecue," He announced with a smile. "At least, it looks like we won't be starving anymore."

Javier had taken some apples from the refrigerator and was peeling and cutting them into little pieces, as he looked after the water that was heating in a pot.

Miguel remained looking at them for a second. He had barely learned to cook and was used to the army's meal, hamburgers and ready-meals. In the house they had lived in, in Santiago de Cuba, he hadn't seen him cooking ever, but they always had a hot meal on the table.

When Javier put the pieces of apple in the pot and added some sugar, he frowned. "What's that? A dessert?" He asked.

"No, this is for Diego. He's hungry and nothing we have is going to sit well with him, except this."

Tony turned in surprise and both he and Miguel stared at Javier. "What's up?" He asked.

"Is…is Diego here?" Tony asked nervously.

"Of course he is. He was already here when I arrived. He's spent all day sleeping. He needs to rest," He replied.

"How is he?" Miguel asked concerned. "When we took you out of the prison, he didn't look well. What happened to him?"

"Nothing strange in that place, settling scores," Javier explained, realizing that they had barely talked about anything during their escape. Even though Tony and Miguel had driven that way before when they took Miranda out of prison and knew the road, it hadn't been easy to keep Diego more comfortable than he could be, enduring the pain that involved his entire beaten body. Javier was worried about Diego's condition, that he didn't stop screaming every time they hit a pothole on the road and didn't know if he would be able to make the last stretch of walking, without help. "He was beaten badly, but he's strong, he'll get through this. I'm going…I'm going to go upstairs, I think I hear something."

Javier left, not wanting to give any explanations anything else about a matter that he had to discuss with his boss.

The sound of the shower he'd heard was clearer as he went upstairs. Taking the bag of medicines, he walked towards his boss' room and knocked on the door. "Coming!" He heard the voice say before the door was opened.

Astonished, Javier was only able to say "You shaved!" before embracing his boss.

"Yes," Diego replied surprised. "What's the problem?"

"To me, the most valuable thing in this house is a razor. It looks you're the only one with that privilege," Javier said.

"We'll add it to the petition list and you'll get one in a day or two," Diego said. "Are Miguel and Tony here already?"

"Yes, they are making something to eat. I have something for you, as well. How are you doing? Did you get some sleep? You were deeply asleep when I arrived and I didn't want to wake you up," Javier commented.

"I'm fine, it hurts a bit, that's all," Diego replied avoiding Javier's eyes.

Javier gave him a mocking look. "Lean down on the bed. Let's check those wounds."

Diego began protesting but Javier interrupted him. "Listen, take this seriously, Diego. You may be the boss but I'm the doctor here. When it concerns yours or any of our healths, I'm not going to allow anyone to doubt my authority. In matters of the health, I'm the boss. So, lean down on the bed."

Diego looked at him hesitantly, but Javier was determined not to leave so he sat down on the bed with a disgusted expression and lifted the clean t-shirt he had put on after his shower.

"You better take off your clothes," Javier asked, while inspecting several medications and medical supplies that he removed from the bag and put on the desk. Protecting his hands with surgical gloves, he took a capsule and broke it, letting an oily liquid flow free.

Diego closed his eyes for a second knowing what would happen then. It wasn't the first time he'd felt intensively violated during those months, but Javier wasn't only his doctor, he was the best friend he could have by his side. So, he swallowed all the fear he felt, removed his clothes and did everything that Javier asked him. He couldn't help but shiver and groan when he felt the pain. "I'm sorry, it'll just be a moment," Javier encouraged him. "You have to do this twice a day. If you can't, I can help you. Take it seriously, though, because you wouldn't like to get an infection. This medicine will protect you and help you to heal your wounds faster," He explained. Taking off the surgical gloves, he gave him a towel to cover his private parts as he examined his liver and stomach areas, swollen and bruised by the beatings he received in prison. The old bruises were turning to a yellow tone, but the entire thing made him shake his head in disgust. He had memorized the x-rays the doctors from the military base had taken of his boss, but wouldn't allow him to take. Even though he looked better, he didn't feel comfortable without the necessary medical supplies.

"Sit up. I'll change the bandages on your back," Javier ordered as he continued his meticulous work. "You shouldn't wet the bandages. If you take a shower, you have to remove them first and then call me and I'll put new ones on. Okay, I'll put a medication on it that will help you heal. It hurts a bit, Miguel was already groaning before when I used it on his injuries." As he treated Diego's back wounds, he wondered what those sadists in the prison wanted causing those terrible cuts, as if it hadn't been enough everything else they'd done to Diego. But he didn't dare to ask, it wasn't necessary and he didn't want to add more anguish to his already distressed boss, even though he pretended, very well, to be okay.

"You have to eat something, Diego," He said once he finished. "I've prepared something for you that is going to help you feel better. Get dressed while I bring it up."

"I can go. I don't need home delivery," Diego protested, feeling better once Javier had finished.

"No, you need to rest. I know that you've been sleeping most of the day, but I suggest you continue like that. Tomorrow morning, we'll see how you feel then," Javier said seriously and then momentarily left the room.

When he returned, Diego was fully dressed and was examining his laptop, which was already charged. "Tony will connect it, but I can tell you that there's nothing on it except for the CIA logo," Javier commented. "He was disappointed," He added with a smile.

"Has he connected the laptops? What about the cell phones?" Diego asked frowning.

"He connected his, I think,"

Diego made a face. "There shouldn't need to be anything on the laptops. Tell him not to touch the cell phones. And, if he connected his, he better start disconnecting it. I'll explain to you what this is all about. What's this?" He said, pointing at the plate that Javier handed to him.

"It's Apple purée. My experience tells me that your stomach will tolerate it well…and it doesn't taste bad," He warned.

"I'm hungry but…I don't know…" Diego looked at the plate but wouldn't dare try to eat what was being offered to him.

"Trust me," Javier encouraged him. "The inflammation is decreasing. I'm sure you'll feel better eating this. You've spent the last five days barely eating anything and that's not good."

Diego began eating slowly, not very convinced despite Javier's words. But he soon found out that it tasted good and his stomach didn't protest to the point of making him vomit, like it had done every time he was forced to eat something at the Guantánamo base.

Javier observed him in silence, biting his tongue as the question tried to come out. "Diego," He finally began. Diego stopped eating and looked at him. "I'd like to ask you something, but you don't need to answer if you don't want to. Did you expect something like this?"

Diego remained silent for a while; maybe looking for the right words for a question he knew he would be asked at any moment. "When I read the reports from the Intelligence Agency about Miranda's condition in that prison, I understood that we had to do something, as soon as we spotted him. If anyone was going to take that risk, it was me." Diego paused thoughtfully. "To answer your question, yes, I expected it and that's why I took you into the prison with me; not only to help Miranda but also me. I'm not going to deny what's clearly evident, it wasn't fun, but we did it, Javier." He finished with a smile.

Javier nodded in silence. The relevance his presence in that prison was for Diego had touched him.

"Why did the CIA decide to contact us? I mean, you have well trained people, more evident resources. So, why would they contact Tony or Miguel, or even me?" Javier asked.

"I don't know but they told me about a problem with an undercover group in the island and the urgency to get Miranda back to the United States prevented them from calling their local agents. Besides, I suppose they didn't think that anyone was trustworthy, especially, in that geographical section. I doubt that there are many people who know about this mission, actually." It wasn't everything but he wouldn't reveal to him what only he knew. He didn't want to clear up Javier's mistake either. Not yet.

"I understand. They took a risk," He reasoned.

"Maybe, but everything went well for them."

"You came up with the plan, they didn't." Javier frowned.

"Yes, a plan for Miranda and a plan for us," Diego emphasized, expecting that Javier would remember his words. "Even though it took longer than we thought for Tony to introduce our profiles into the Cuban government database and get the transfer order to get out of prison," Diego explained. "I never doubted him, but when I learned about Clara…He put our safety in danger. We were working alone, Miranda was out of the island and…"

Javier nodded. "So that's why you asked information about her, as soon as you came into the base." A doubt suddenly came to his mind, why had they beaten Diego so badly right when they were going to leave.

"Of course. We aren't safe yet. That's why we're here. If the Cuban Intelligence finds out that we're connected to Miranda, our lives could be in danger and nothing would be the same for us anymore. I firmly believe that none of us want that. We haven't taken so many preventive measures to go unnoticed to ruin everything because of an affair."

"And, have you learned anything?" Javier asked worriedly.

"Nothing yet. But I'll receive it at any moment. Hey…don't you have more of this?" Diego asked handing the empty plate to Javier.

"Be careful, we're not going to tempt the devil. But it's a good sign that your stomach can tolerate it well and the wounds on your back look better. You'll feel great soon," Javier replied with a smile.

"Right, what time is it?" Diego asked as he stretched his hand to take the cell phone. "Wow, it's already twenty past five?"

"Yes, it's been a strange day. I'm going to eat, that's if Tony or Miguel left me some food. You get some rest and we'll get better organized tomorrow."

"Sure, tell the guys that tomorrow morning at nine I want them ready for a meeting," Diego said.

"Done, boss," Javier took his bag and left the room, but he couldn't get out of his mind the name of Clara Torres and the bad beating Diego had received the day before they left the prison.

'Meeting at nine,' Diego thought. Putting the cards on the table, everything would change and they would start working on their return, something he wished for desperately.

He still remembered the hug his boss gave him, his encouraging words and the sadness he showed for only a second. 'This will change your life, will change you' he had told him. He hoped he wasn't right, even though being aware of the fact that his decisions were orders to the team, and that he had the responsibility over three people, four if he included himself, would change the perspective. He wished and prayed that evening, to keep that little thread that joined him to the world he had been part of eight months ago, a time that seemed like an eternity.

…


	3. Chapter 3

WHO, HOW, WHEN, WHERE, WHY?

**CHAPTER 3**

**Columbia Heights, Washington D.C. **

**March 3, 2006**

Tony stretched out his arm and disarmed the alarm on his cell phone before it started to ring. He had barely slept, despite the exhaustion that he felt, as he thought about Diego's meeting. He, who had enjoyed the mission for a while, now, remembering those moments, he only felt remorse. Standing up, he stepped into the bathroom, and refreshing his face, he observed the water dropping through the beard he felt so proud of the day before. Shaking his head, he felt ashamed now.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, he left the room and went downstairs with his mind on grabbing something to eat and distracting his mind. He couldn't help but remember that before going into this mission, more than once he'd forgotten to have something to eat and couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something, while he consumed the hours before a computer screen, in a lifestyle where the words 'free time' didn't exist.

Serving himself a generous amount of cereal, he opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk that Miguel had been given the day before. It was then, when he realized the desk where a half hour later they would have a meeting, that he felt butterflies in his stomach. Several files, papers and an opened laptop were enough to realize that someone had been working there, and that someone could only be Diego.

Looking around, he found his boss' silhouette, lying on the couch in front of the television. Approaching, he sat down on a nearby couch, with his cereal, not knowing what else to do. He felt stupid sitting down, eating and looking at him, expecting him to wake up at any moment and help him to calm his inner reproach to himself. Absentmindedly, he started (began) talking aloud, even though fortunately for him, the only words that came out were "This is absurd."

Danny (Diego) shifted on the couch and opened his eyes. Noticing Tony on the nearby couch, he sat up carefully. "What…what time is it?" He asked rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry that I woke you up. It's half past eight," Tony replied. "It's still early for the meeting. Javier told us last night. How…how do you feel?" He asked fearfully.

Diego couldn't help but feel a certain compassion for his colleague; maybe, he had been too hard on him. A conclusion he had made after reading Tony's profile, one of the files he had found in his dresser. His colleagues' profiles were now more accurate and complete than the ones he was given at the beginning of the mission. Beside Miguel's and Javier's, his suspects (suspicions) that the second part of the operation didn't have any backup and the only priority of the mission was taking Miranda out of the country, developed a certain truth. It was something to discuss, but not with them.

"Did Clara help you with anything, or anyone she knew?" He asked, without replying to Tony's question, as if he was continuing a previously unfinished conversation.

Swelling (Swallowing) hard as he shook his head, Tony frowned thoughtfully. "No Diego, I…I just counted on Miguel. To the rest of people, I just played my role, like you told me. I swear, Diego. We had difficulties after leaving Miranda at the base. Waiting some time before coming back to work on a story for both of you and take you out of prison with all the documents we could need, was complicated. I had to sneak into the Administration offices, take some documents and original sealed papers…the excuse of an electrical problem was perfect, thanks to Miguel who caused a fire. We weren't caught by an inch. But we did it alone, nobody else knew about it."

Diego nodded. "Have you ever heard mentioned the name Luis García? He's a stocky guy, 180 cm (5ft 10in) tall. He has long brown hair in a ponytail close to his waist. Dark eyes, a scar on an eyebrow, arms covered with tattoos and some words tattooed on his neck. Maybe…maybe you saw a picture of him."

Tony's expression changed radically as Diego described one of the guys that had tortured him in prison and he knew so well. He knew the answer before Tony opened his mouth, even though not the connection. "Clara had a picture of a guy matching that description. She didn't tell me his name, just that he was his (her) boyfriend and that he was in prison."

"Did she visit him in prison?"

"No, no…she didn't want to know anything about him; she told me she was scared of him. He didn't treat her very well…"

"But she kept a picture of him," Diego replied.

Tony looked at him suspiciously, uncomfortably. He wasn't used to that. People weren't his world, he wasn't interested in people. But Clara had always been so kind to them, something he had never experienced and he wasn't used to it.

"Yes," He admitted. "But I never told her anything."

"Is it possible that she found out something where you were living, you or Miguel?" Diego asked.

"Maybe, I don't know, Diego. There wasn't too much privacy, even though we took precautions. But still…Clara would have told me, she would have asked something. She trusted me.

Diego grimaced. Tony was nearly his age, but he seemed like he was a teenager. His world was computers and no doubt he was good with them. Remembering what he had read about him, it wasn't strange at all. "How did you get here? I mean, how did you get to be that good at your job? I know you that you've been a menace to the CIA, breaking past their computers' security walls."

"I know I did wrong with Clara," He said, still stuck on Diego's previous questions.

"Forget about Clara, just reply (answer) my question," Diego encouraged him, making him feel worse.

"I was sixteen when I was transferred to another foster care home. The Director didn't care about us, that place was hell, the worst place I've been in my life after…"

"I know," Diego said, saving him from giving more explanations. At three years old, Tony had been adopted and his life was apparently normal until at eleven years old, when the gym teacher sent him to the school's infirmary. It was then, when they found out about the abuse he had been suffering for years. At eleven years old, he didn't find a family to take care of him after he was separated from his adoptive parents and he entered a system Diego knew too well.

"Sure," Tony muttered before continuing. "The guy had a videogame business and spent a lot of time working on his computer. One day, I went into his office and started looking through it. I found it fascinating. The Institute had a lab and the Technology teacher noticed my interest. He taught me the basics and learned that I was good; it was something natural to me. I…I couldn't help…" Tony smiled, remembering something.

Diego realized the reason. "You took (got) revenge on the Director."

"Yep, I think I ruined several of his projects. After that, I couldn't stop."

"How did you get to be part of the Silicon Valley world?"

"Um…is this conversation being recorded?" He asked hesitating (hesitantly).

"Come on, Tony. This is between you and me. I'm just curious." Diego clarified.

"I faked (falsified) someone's identity. That place is so big that nobody noticed me and after a while, I left that place, created my own videogame business…"

"Did you get money to hack websites, software…?"

"No, but I did get money by working to improve their security. That's the usual."

"Let me see if I understand this. First, you ruined their work and then you offered your services to improve their security?"

"Basically."

"And you didn't end up in prison?"

"No, I ended up here. I started playing hard. I thought I was safe, until the day I received a letter from the CIA. When I tried to escape, two big men took me before a very unlikable guy. I was interrogated and learned that they knew enough stuff about me, so when they offered me the job, I couldn't refuse. I signed a document, I was put into a plane headed for New York and then they took me to your office. The rest of the story, you know it.

They remained in uncomfortable silence for a moment, which made Tony think about the matter he had been ashamed about the most. He hadn't told, yet.

"I'm very sorry about what happened. I should've been working more diligently and not wasting my time with Clara or anybody else. I can't stop thinking about it…" He started.

"About what?" Diego asked.

"I know what happens in those prisons. Clara told me some things. Just knowing that, I should've been more diligent, just worked fast. The fact that my absentmindedness delayed your exit from that hell…when I saw you entering that room in that state, I didn't….I didn't expect that. Javier was there and he was okay. I thought that you were okay too and that nothing had happened to you. But then you came in and…" Tony didn't know how to continue. "You were completely right when you told me the things you said to me at the base."

"I was just covering Miranda, but then it became the usual behavior," Diego said. "Although I have to admit that I thought we would have escaped earlier (sooner). What worries me, is not the fact you wasted time with Clara, I'm worried about who she is. I heard her name in prison and that's why I asked you about Luis García. I asked for information about her at the base. I don't know what she knows about you, but she was related to that guy. Before we went into the prison, Miranda had been beaten and García was the leader. I'm sorry to say this, but this girl's story doesn't sound right."

"I understand," Tony said worriedly. The image of her that his boss was telling him had nothing to do with the young woman he had met on the island.

"Yes," Diego said, standing up. "Well, it's almost nine. Why don't you call Javier and Miguel?"

"Sure," Tony stood up and taking his almost (nearly) full cereal bowl into the kitchen, he ran upstairs to call his colleagues.

He found Javier in Miguel's room, examining Miguel's hand.

"Hey guys, Diego is downstairs. We're going to start the meeting," He announced.

"I hope it doesn't last long, I'm hungry," Miguel said, grimacing as Javier covered his hand with a bandage.

"How are you doing?" Tony asked interested.

"It looks fine, doesn't it, doc?" Miguel replied.

"Yes, you're lucky, it's just a superficial wound," Santos replied.

"What about Diego?" Tony asked. "I've been talking to him. I asked him how he feels, but he didn't tell me. However, he looks fine. It's incredible that just three days ago he was dying."

"Come on, he wasn't dying, just battered. He'll be fine," Javier said. "We better go, let's see what the boss has to tell us."

Soon, they were all sitting down around the table they would use to work from then on. Diego had removed all of his papers while Tony had went (gone) up to call the others.

"How's that hand?" Diego asked interested after embracing Miguel, who he hadn't seen since they had left the island.

"Fine, fine, Javier says I'm lucky; that it was just superficial wounds," Miguel replied. "What about you?"

"That's great, it could have been worse," Diego replied. "Well guys, let's finish this, the sooner the better," He continued inviting them with a gesture to sit around the table.

Miguel couldn't help but bite his tongue. Diego hadn't replied (answered) his question, just like it'd happened with Tony before.

Diego looked at them for a moment before ending that phase and began the one that would let them be back where they would wish from then on. If they were there, it was because he had asked them to. And he was responsible of (for) their well-being from then on. He had made (done) his job, he had studied all of the information about them he had been given and he had a pretty accurate profile of the people he had before him; although the experiences they had been through, made it clearly insufficient. However, the circumstances had forced him to hide some aspects, apparently trivial, that Diego had used to protect himself from any mistake. And actually, it had worked out. Now it was time to make the way back.

"Well," He started (began), aware that his words would surprise them, not because of their meaning but because of the language they were being spoken in. "During the next several weeks we're going to stay here, there are some basic appearances that we need to keep up," He began, causing Tony and Javier to frown and Miguel to jump slightly in his seat. Was Diego speaking English? Did he know how to speak English?

"First," He said as if he hadn't noticed their reactions. "Here you have a notebook where you have to write down everything that you need; razors, clothes, music, books, food…whatever. We'll do it every day so don't worry if you forget something. I've already created a short list, so if you want to add something, do it now so we'll have the chance to give them the list today when they come by," He said handing the notebook to Javier, who was sat (sitting) down beside him. "Everyday, a messenger will bring whatever we ask for. I'm the only person authorized to open the door, take the things and give the list for the next day, is that understood?"

The three of them nodded, as Javier wrote something and handed the notebook to Miguel. "Can I ask for my guitar?" He asked.

"You can, but I don't think you'll get yours," Tony replied.

"No, me either," Diego agreed. "Well, something else. News on Channel 4 every morning at 10:30AM. We'll know we can leave the day they mention the press conference Andrés Miranda will give. That day, we'll leave the house."

"And, where will we go?" Miguel asked.

"Good question. I don't know yet. I trust our messenger will give us the information before that. There is…there is one thing I want you to do about this. I'll explain it to you later, I'll give you now the instructions I've been given…oh well, I better explain it now." He would soon regret breaking the line about that petition. "I want you to think seriously about what you want to do with your lives from now on. Maybe it seems trivial and your logical reaction would be to go back to your previous lives, but I want you to think about it because maybe you won't be able to do that."

"Is the CIA going to help facilitate matters?" Miguel asked interested.

"Or the complete opposite," Tony said grimacing.

"I only tell you to think about it and when you've decided something, write it down and keep it in an envelope."

"Whatever the boss orders," Miguel nodded, feeling somewhat nervous.

"Well, there is one more thing. Today, I want you to start a personal detailed report about what happened on the island. Anything you remember, I want it there, even if you consider it a triviality."

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to remember everything," Tony said. "I wasn't always paying attention."

"You can describe the plumbing structures or the electrical installation in the building we were living. I'm sure you know that," Miguel said with a smirk.

Tony stared at him furiously. He knew that Miguel was talking about something else.

"Hey guys, nobody is going to judge anyone. We have to do it, all of us. I need the most complete information when I have to explain our mission, and believe me, they'll ask questions about absolutely everything that happened over there. If we do that here, if we write it now and go over all of it together, everything is going to be okay."

"What do you mean?" Javier asked worriedly.

Diego thought for a moment. He didn't want to reveal the part of the plan that only he could know about, but he needed them to that work seriously. It was important for them, for their safety, for what could happen.

"You know that there are suspects (suspicions) of several undercover agents on the island trying to block the work of the rest of the agents there. We've gone onto and left the island without being noticed, except by the people from the military base we previously contacted. I don't want anybody to doubt us or our work," Diego explained.

"All right. Um…can I ask what you are going to do with us then? I mean, I have, had, my job and I suppose Tony and Miguel had theirs. It's easy for you, you'll go on with your job, but we… I don't think that writing our wishes down on a paper is a guarantee for anything," Javier asked, clearly upset.

"I know, but don't doubt for a moment that I'll fight for you to get what it is that you want. I'll fight for all of us. It's the less (least) we deserve." Diego stopped for a moment. "Let's get some rest," He proposed, not only to relax the increasing tension but also because the effects of the painkillers he'd taken hours earlier, were disappearing.

"All right," Javier nodded, standing up immediately. Diego noticed how very nervous he was. Diego would like to tell him that he shouldn't worry about anything, but he didn't even know what would happen next. Javier had enough experience to realize the situation that they were facing. He took (made) a mental note of having a private conversation with him.

…..


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"How long are we going to stay here?" Miguel asked, before putting a handful of cereal into his mouth.

They had taken advantage of the break Diego had suggested to have breakfast.

"I don't know; I hope it's not too much time. Miranda should have arrived a few weeks ago, it's been a long time, so I don't think we're going to stay more than two weeks," Diego explained.

"They told me about five," Javier replied.

"I don't think so, but it could be," Diego admitted. "Anyway, we should keep the order in the house. By the way, you'll realize that I've removed what was left from the pack of beer. I don't want alcoholic drinks in the house so don't include them in the petition list."

Javier remembered the still cold pack of beers on the table when he'd arrived and he understood now that Diego had taken it out of the fridge intentionally.

"Let's see…Tony, have you disconnected your cell phone?"

"Yes, I was going to connect the other cell phones, as I was ordered, but Javier told me that you had asked not to do it," He replied. "But I'm not sure if it'll be registered."

"I don't care," Diego said bothered. Opening the fridge, he looked for something to eat, but he didn't find anything he'd like. He took out the water pitcher and poured water into a glass. Then, he looked at his watch. "It's 10:20, I'm going to switch on the television," He said, heading out to the living room with the glass. Leaving it on the table, he took the remote and looked for the news channel they had been told.

"You won't find anything on the news today; it's not a good excuse, by the way," He heard behind him. It was Javier. He had noticed him especially upset a while ago.

"What?" Diego asked, knowing what Javier meant.

"You haven't eaten anything, and from what Tony told me, you didn't get enough sleep last night."

Diego didn't reply.

"Anyway, I don't know why I'm worrying about you. Your Agency has mishandled it all. You don't have a clue about what to do with us. I'm very disappointed about what you told us before." Javier told off.

Miguel and Tony exchanged a worried look. What was happening with Diego and Javier?

"I don't know what you mean," There was tension in Diego's voice.

"Tony or Miguel, maybe they are happy with this adventure. I'm sure about Miguel, although not that sure about Tony, but I'm here against my will. I was told that I could go back to my job, my city, my home, my life. Don't tell me you're going to fight for whatever I write on a piece of paper, Diego. Are you going to tell me what's hap…?"

He couldn't finish the question. The doorbell's ring made them alert, by the unusual of the situation. Diego headed to the door, relieved that Javier couldn't continue that conversation, as Miguel handed him the petitions list. Opening the door, a pizza delivery man left a red package as Diego handed him the paper. They barely exchanged a few words before the young man got on his motorcycle and left the place.

With the package in his hands, Diego remained at the entrance, observing the people and cars passing by as if it was any day of March 2006, unaware of what they were living. He knew he should close the door and focus, leave the package, eat something, trying to clarify the issues with Javier, continue with the meeting they had begun a while ago. But, for some reason, he remained there still, hypnotized as life went by before him not being able to join it. The built up tension, the lack of food and the pain in his stomach, made his vision blur momentarily and he almost lost his balance. A hand on his shoulder made him react.

"Give me the package," Javier ordered. Diego turned to him, handed the package and faster that the pain and dizziness allowed him, he walked upstairs to his bedroom.

Javier showed his anger by slamming the door and leaving the package on the kitchen table.

"What's going on?" Miguel asked worried.

"I don't like being lied to," Javier replied.

"He didn't want to tell me anything either," Miguel said. "But that doesn't mean he's lying."

"I don't mean that," Javier said, taking out the groceries. He grimaced when he noticed the envelope with the CIA logo, addressed to Diego. Surely, it contained the information about Clara Torres.

"He's our boss," Miguel continued. "It surely contains information that he can't tell us. And he has taken bigger risks than any of us has."

"Yes, that's his job but not mine. I don't know about you, but I didn't come voluntarily. They promised me that I would get my life back, and now I learn that not even Diego has a clear answer," Javier continued.

"I didn't come voluntarily either," Tony agreed. "Although I don't think I can get back to my job. I don't really know what I'm going to do when this is over."

Miguel observed them. They both looked genuinely worried. He hadn't thought about it, to him that was his life, it was what he wanted to do, he trusted and understood Diego, he knew the meaning of being Operations' boss. He had seen it at his unit.

"Damn it!" Javier muttered angrily.

Taking the envelope addressed to Diego, he went upstairs to his boss' room. Knocking on the door, he entered without waiting for a reply. Just as he thought, he found Diego hunched over on the bed, groaning in terrible pain. "Damn it," He exclaimed again, as he looked for a syringe and a strong analgesic he didn't think he'd have to use. He quickly prepared it and grabbing Diego's arm, injected the medication. Forcing him to stretch on the bed, he tried to find where the problem was in that moment, but he wasn't able to help in their current location. "If you continue like this, you'll have to go to a hospital," He said. "I can't help you much here. Have you vomited?"

Diego shook his head. He felt the pain lessen as the drowsiness from the medication began taking over him. "What did you inject me with?" He muttered.

"It's a strong analgesic. It'll make the pain go away, but it'll also help you get some sleep," Javier replied standing up.

"I don't want to sleep," Diego muttered as his eyes got closed.

Javier observed him from the open door. He would watch over him. Going downstairs, he took his laptop and announced "I'm going to go work upstairs," He said to Tony and Miguel.

"How is he?" Tony asked.

"If the inflammation doesn't get better and he doesn't eat, they'll have to take him to a hospital," He replied. "I can't do much for him, here. Is there any rice?"

"Yes," Miguel replied, opening a cupboard and taking out a package. "It reminds me of the rice with chicken my mom prepared when I was a kid and got sick." He grimaced.

"Well, I think I'm going to begin writing the report," Tony said. "The sooner I start, the sooner I'll finish. I'd like to know what else Diego was going to tell us," He continued.

"Not now. He's getting some sleep thanks to the analgesic I've injected him with," Javier said clearly upset. "You'll have to wait."

"I'm sure he has an explanation for all of this, Javier," Miguel encouraged him. "Sometimes, I had to follow some instructions from our boss and it apparently was nonsense, but…"

"I'm a marine, Miguel," Javier interrupted. "In the reserve, but I know perfectly well what the responsibility of an operations' boss is. This is not about Diego, but he's the CIA and they are who put us here."

"Okay," Miguel admitted, surprised by the revelation Javier had made. He knew he was a doctor, but not military personnel. "We're not going to argue here. Let's ask him when he feels better and he'll clarify the matter."

…..

Diego was still asleep when Javier entered the room and cleared the desk. Putting on it the laptop, he switched it on, ready to work on that report. He didn't pretend to accuse Diego, but he was forty-five years old and he claimed to get his life back.

_Flashback_

_**Orlando, Florida. June 13, 2005**_

_At 10__:__30 AM, his twenty-four hour shift ended. He was tired, but his last patient would leave of the exam room with a wide grin. Peter Andrews, the nine year old boy who had entered the emergency room with his arm bent in an unnatural way, was leaving with a cast that he could showoff to his classmates._

_Washing his hands, he removed the rest of product and after drying his hands, he took off his lab coat and put away the documents he had on his desk in a folder. Switching off the light he left the room and headed to his office, greeting several coworkers he met on his way. As he walked, he thought about the day ahead. The best idea would be to go back home and get some rest, but he feared the upcoming nightmares, something that he'd been thinking about throughout the day._

_Laura would be opening the store where she worked, but he remembered they had agreed to meet at the Starbucks located in front of her job. Three months ago he had met her, once he forced himself to move on without feeling guilty. But today was their anniversary, the day when everything ended. Absentmindedly, he found himself playing with a nonexistent ring on his finger, remembering scents, sounds, Patricia's laughter as her mom tied her hair back in a braid and talked joyfully, her kindness, her skin, the soft curves of her body he knew so well… the experience of the distance, that damn destination in a NATO base in Germany… the letter… the giving up… the death… the mourning…_

_Someone cleared their throat behind him making him get return to the present time, at his office, at the end of an exhausting day of work. "Yes," He told the nurse, as he blinked his tearful eyes, a consequence of the painful memories. She knew well, she'd known him for years and knew the meaning of that specific day but she didn't say a word. "Doctor, these are the files of the patients that will come the day after tomorrow."_

"_Sure, thanks Louise," He said, taking them and putting them into his bag._

"_I've also picked this for you," She continued, handing him an envelope with his name on it._

"_Who brought it?" He asked, noticing it didn't come from a postal office._

"_Someone left it on the counter, Doctor, a messenger."_

"_Well, thanks," He said putting it into his bag, beside the other files. "I'm going home; it's been a long journey. Have a good day, Louise."_

"_Get some rest, doctor."_

_One hour later, in the Starbucks he had agreed to meet Laura, he realized it wasn't his best day to share with anybody. And it wasn't fair that she would pay for his sadness. Forcing himself to smile and follow the conversation with her, he failed to understand. His mind went back over and over to the old times, eight years ago, that call from the United States, the return, the identification of the bodies, the burned house…his wife, his daughter, his world. Everything had disappeared._

"_What?" He asked noticing Laura staring at him._

"_What's wrong with you today? You're very… distracted. Hey, you have to be exhausted. You should go home and rest. I'm going to open the store in twenty minutes and…"_

"_I'm sorry; it's not your fault. It's just…today…today is the anniversary of…well…" He cursed himself for feeling that vulnerable, it wasn't her fault and she deserved an explanation._

"_Oh, I didn't know," She smiled guessing and put her hand on his, kindly and comfortably, the exact way Eleanor would have done. His eyes became tearful. It had been eight years ago and he couldn't move on. "I'm sorry," He muttered._

"_Go home, rest. I'll call you later and if you want, we can have a walk, talk, whatever you want, okay?" She suggested._

_They had met by coincidence, when she had taken her son, Andy, to the hospital after he fell down off his bicycle. He had only gotten some scratches, but she was worried. His father took advantage of any incident in an attempt to request full custody of the kid, which she now had. A struggle she was still going through._

_He hadn't remembered the letter the nurse had given to him, until he was removing the patient files out of his bag and the letter fell out._

_Picking it up, he looked at the envelope, with his name printed on it and frowned. Opening it, he noticed the official paper from the Ministry of Defense. He mentally counted the years he had spent in the reserve, it wasn't difficult. He had left everything when Eleanor and Patricia died._

_The letter was signed by a General he didn't know and he had an appointment twenty-four hours later in a New York address. His heart skipped a beat, what would they want from him now? And what did they want with him in New York? Beside the letter, a plane ticket to the city of the skyscrapers._

_End of flashback_

So, from what moment should he begin writing? Since he'd received that letter? Since he'd met Diego? Since he'd arrived to the island? Yes, that would be a good place to start.

Two hours later, he had written a general description of the mission they had been through. Checking his notes, he wondered again if Diego had perceived what had happened to him, if the CIA was able to force their agents to reach the objective no matter what they had to go through. They could have lost him, Diego Hernández, instead of Andrés Miranda. A shiver ran through his spine, thinking about their fates if his boss wouldn't have returned. Only he knew what they would have to do next.

The effects of the analgesic were vanishing and Diego began to move on the bed. Standing up, Javier approached him and taking his arm, checked his pulse. A hand on his forehead taught him he wasn't running fever, which indicated that the wounds were healing well and there wasn't an infection. Opening his eyes, Diego looked at him somewhat suspiciously, probably something he deserved. Their argument from that morning was still strong between them.

"How are you doing?" He asked.

"You tell me," Diego groaned.

"The pain won't leave for a while. That's what I can tell you. But I think you'll get better. There's no fever or infection. The inflammation is still there and I can't explain why your stomach hurts so much, but I expect that as the inflammation is lessens, the pain will as well," Javier said. "But, this is the diagnosis from a doctor with no instruments enough to check on you, the way I'd like at this moment. How are you feeling?"

"Now…now I feel good, I think," Diego replied, frowning.

"Listen, I'm sorry about before, but you have to understand that your explanations are anything but convincing. And I need answers to my question, answers as clear as the explanation I've just given you."

"You didn't let me finish this morning," Diego began, standing up on the bed. "I can be sick, but it doesn't mean I can't do my job, Javier. Like you told me, you're the doctor and you're the boss when it comes to the medical stuff, but I'm the one responsible for the entire team, including you. We're going to stay in this house for a time I don't know yet, and I can't let you question my authority again the way you did. I'm sick, but I haven't stopped facing my responsibilities for a second. I think…I think I need time, but it's exactly what I don't have. I try to keep standing and stay active. It won't help if I stay lying in bed, especially not when my decisions or explanations are questioned. I can't let this situation go south, is that clear to you?"

Javier was going to say something, but at that moment Miguel poked his head through the door. "Hey, we're going to eat something, are you coming?" He asked.

"Yeah, sure," Javier replied standing up. "I'll prepare something for you too," He told Diego.

"I'm coming too," Diego said. "I'm going to take a shower first."

Miguel looked at Javier with a questioning look, but he didn't show any reply. The seriousness between the two men, made Miguel think that their differences were still far from being resolved.

As they went downstairs, he wanted to share with Javier what he had been talking with Tony.

"We've been working on that report Diego asked and, even if at first moment, I thought it was just Tony being paranoid, it's true that he's right in his assessment."

They both heard as Diego's door closed and they exchanged a worried look. Javier shook his head thoughtfully. "Do you know the reason why we were sent there?"

"There was a mole or more than one," Miguel remembered with a grimace.

"Exactly, and there was no time to learn who they could or couldn't trust, so they sent us. And there was no time because Miranda was being beaten so many times that they feared he would die in prison," Javier said.

Miguel nodded.

"And, do you know what? He didn't suffer more than what Diego suffered. Miranda could have stayed in prison for a longer time to prepare the operation and learn who the traitor or traitors was and get him out of prison. Something is wrong here, Miguel."

"What do you think Diego knows?"

"We'll ask him. He told me that we didn't let him finish this morning. He's right, but I'm worried about his condition and I can't do much more than observe him. If he has any inner lesion farther from what I can touch, I don't have any way to know it, least to treat him."

"Maybe it's soon," Miguel said.

"I hope so,"

They were going into the kitchen when they heard Diego's scream. They looked at each other alarmed while Tony, who was in the backyard, entered the house again, quickly.

"Tony, get up here!" They listened to Diego calling urgently.

Going up the stairs fast, Tony didn't even knock on the door. Miguel and Javier followed him.

In the bedroom they didn't find anybody, but the sound of the shower gave them a clear idea of where Diego was. Opening the door to the bathroom, Tony felt the steam from the hot water on his face and saw the words Diego pointed out, written on the shower door. Tony understood what Diego was asking him to do. He nodded as he realized that he wasn't the only paranoid person in the house. "Tell Javier I'm vomiting blood!" He screamed. "Aggrrrr, it hurts so much!" He continued.

Tony left the room as a fearful Javier tried to come in, but he signaled to him. What was happening? Looking around, he started to remove the furniture and things, and only when he was absolutely sure of it, he took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote something. He showed it to Miguel and Javier. Miguel joined Tony in searching, as Javier played along. Entering the bathroom, he found Diego out of the shower, with a towel around his waist. "What happened to you?"

"I don't…I don't know, I feel bad, my stomach…" Diego complained, although it was only his voice that showed pain.

"You better lay on bed, I don't like this. You might have internal bleeding. You have to go to a hospital, Diego. I can't do anything for you here," He said going along with the game his boss pretended, even though he didn't understand anything.

"Am I going to die?" He asked, sitting down on the bed and looking carefully around. Suddenly, everything was suspicious to him. Standing up, he took the gun he had gotten out of the dresser the day before. He had left his fingerprints on it, he thought. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm down. But he had listened to Miguel when they were leaving the room and it was just what he had been thinking about, when the night before he had been writing his own report, after reading the complete profiles of his colleagues. He never trusted and now he welcomed the measures he was able to take. But he was sure it wasn't enough. He had to think about a new plan, a plan to get by, to fool, the real Central Intelligence Agency.

"I'm not going to say that, Diego. If the situation were different, if you were in a hospital, you'd undergo surgery and it'd be over. But here…I don't know what to tell you. I'll ask for an ambulance and give the petition to the messenger if that's our only contact outside."

They heard Miguel's steps coming up the stairs. "There's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Diego asked.

"Yes, Sir, I'm sure."

"Okay then. Let's go downstairs," Diego ordered somewhat relieved, taking the envelope he had been given that morning. He couldn't help but laugh as he thought about the acting performance he'd just given.

Hopefully, there really was nothing in the house. Otherwise, they could have gotten an ambulance at the door of the house, implying that they were being watched.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

In the kitchen, sitting down in front of a plate of soupy rice he looked at with displeasure, trying to follow Javier's orders to eat something, Diego decided to continue the meeting they had interrupted that morning.

"You're wondering what's happening," He began. He felt three pairs of eyes over him. "The cell phones are still free, aren't they?" He asked.

"Yes, like you ordered, Sir," Tony replied in such a serious tone that it made Diego smile.

"When we met the last time before beginning this mission, I asked you to do one thing, did you do it?"

"Yes," Miguel replied, remembering it instantly. "Me too," Javier frowned.

"Tony?"

"No…I didn't find anyone, Sir. I'm sorry."

"Well, don't worry. This is about that also, I'm afraid. I didn't want to tell you anything until I was absolutely sure and have any solution to give you. I don't have that solution but we must talk. I've been reading your profiles, writing my report and making conclusions. From the beginning of this operation I decided to take some safety measures. One of the measures was that. Now, at this moment and before Tony connects our cell phones to the Agency, I want you to make a call. Tell that person you chose that you're fine, that you're back but you can't come back home right now, but insist that you're fine. Don't tell them anything about the mission, they'll understand. You must make them understand, all right? It's…it's important."

"Now," He said trying to smile when he noticed that none of them moved.

Miguel pulled out his cell phone. "Can I go to my room?" He asked feeling a knot in his throat.

"Of course you can," Diego agreed.

Javier and Miguel left the kitchen as Tony stayed with Diego, who faced the soupy rice as if it was a battle to fight.

"What about you? Aren't you going to call anyone?" Tony asked.

"Yes, but let me eat this first. If I don't do it now, I'm not sure of doing it later." Diego replied with a grimace. "As soon as they give you the cell phones, connect them, okay?"

"What's happening, Diego?" Tony asked.

"Honestly, they didn't expect that we would come back," Diego replied. It wasn't what he wanted to tell them right now, but it was clear they had implied it. "I'm sorry," He added.

Tony blinked. His paranoia was becoming fear, a very real fear. Noticing Diego eating so calmly in front of him, made him feel like an idiot, but he remembered that his boss would be trained for something he never thought he would do. "What are we going to do?"

"I'll think about something, but know that you're most likely going to put your skills to practice," Diego told him. "Could you pass me my cell phone?" He asked, pointing at his cell phone on the table in front of the television.

"Thanks," He said, standing up when Tony gave it to him. He dialed a number and patiently waited. He knew that on the other end of the line, the recipient would take a while to answer the call, possibly asking himself a hundred questions in his mind, surprised but also relieved.

That's exactly what his superior felt as he read his name on the cell phone screen. Raising a hand, he interrupted an explanation and turning back he almost whispered his name. Diego smiled. "I'm back. You'll have news from me," He said just before ending the call.

"Is that all?" Tony asked.

"Enough," Diego replied. Both Javier and Miguel came back from making their calls. "How did it go?" Diego asked. Javier grimaced and Miguel nodded. "Great, they know you're back, they won't forget it. That's important."

It was the second time he'd said that. Javier noticed the empty plate and sighed. At least, that was going well.

"Well," Diego said. "I'm going to accept the generosity the Agency had in sending me our documentation to make the introductions. From now on, Javier, Tony, Miguel…Diego…are names we won't say anymore. Since the very first moment I wanted to speak to you in Spanish and know each other by our fake names we'd use on the island to prevent any mistake. We're short of time and that was a safety measure, easy and effective."

They nodded.

"But that's over. Corporal Alex Córdoba," He named handing the documents to Miguel. "Captain Jason Diaz, doctor," He continued. Javier took the documents Diego handed him feeling that things were becoming real again in that very moment. "Patrick González, videogames expert and professional hacker; you did very well Patrick. Congratulations, it's been a good job and don't hesitate to think that I'll try to compensate you for it."

Tony took his documents and examined them carefully. "Thanks, Sir," He said awkwardly.

Diego had talked to him like that because he still noticed Tony's guilty look because of Clara's story and he didn't want him to feel like that. He needed him to be confident.

"As for me," He paused before continuing and thought about the repercussions of his words, "I'm sorry to tell that I'm not a CIA agent. My name is Danny Taylor and I work with the FBI in the Missing Persons Unit in New York City."

_Flashback_

_**FBI Headquarters. New York, June 2, 2005**_

_Walking toward an interview room as he read some interesting facts about the arrested prisoner, another agent stopped him. "This is the list of calls from Ward's cell phone during the week of May 23__rd__-29__th__," He said, handing him a paper. Revising it quickly, he noticed a number that was repeated several times and he added it to his mental list of questions. "This is for you too, Sir." The agent gave him a sealed envelope and left. The only thing printed on it was his name. Opening the envelope, he quickly read the content. It was short: An appointment he shouldn't talk about, June 4__th__ at 9:00PM. The place caught his attention by how familiar it seemed it to him. The signer, even more: Robert Conrad, a New York policeman he had met as he was training for the physical tests they had done during the second week of May._

_If he hadn't taken seriously those tests, he would probably never have received that letter and he never would have been forced to accept that mission without being accused of not being compromised with his country, or worse, being suspected of counter-intelligence activity, as the words of his spokesperson could be understood. _

_When he talked to his boss about what was happening, without giving too many explanations, he became furious, even though he understood that his agent didn't have any other option. Trusting him that way, against the instructions he had been given, was the only solace he had as he tried to calm the fear he actually felt._

_End of Flashback_

**Manhattan, New York. FBI Headquarters. February 25, 2005.**

Outside of the interview room, Martin Fitzgerald impatiently observed his colleagues Vivian Johnson and Danny Taylor working, as they tried to get useful information from a gang member, a clue that would lead them to find Anna Perkins, the seventeen year old young woman, missing for thirty-eight hours.

To the supervisor of the team, Jack Malone, forty hours marked the line between finding a person alive or not. And they were dangerously reaching that line. His right hand, Vivian Johnson also knew it and pressured the young man, as Danny Taylor, used to deal with that kind of people, played the confident role.

Listening carefully to the interrogation, Martin didn't notice his colleague, Sam Spade, approaching. "How is it going?" She asked, observing her colleagues through the glass.

"Good cop, bad cop. If they don't get anything out of him, I don't know who's going to do it," He replied.

Sam would have laughed if it wasn't for the urgency of the situation. She didn't expect that reaction from Martin. "Vivian and Danny aren't infallible; they are just more used to dealing with people like that. Or is it that you haven't realized what Danny did before joining the FBI?"

Martin gave her a surprised look. It was true that he was the last one to join the team, but it had been two years and they had lived a lot to have a certain idea of where his colleague came from. He wondered if he had missed something, something that Sam knew but not him. "He was a cop, right? No, wait, he was studying Law… okay, what?" He finally asked.

"Guess!" She proposed.

You don't know either," He said, realizing she was kidding.

At that moment, the door of the interrogation room was opened and Vivian left. "Do you know a man named Mark Whalberg?"

"The actor?" Sam asked surprised.

"No, he's a bouncer working at a nightclub in South of Manhattan, _Plastik. _This guy says that the bouncer's his cousin. He said that Anna Perkins spent the night with him." Vivian said.

"So, why did he take so long to tell you that?" Martin asked, as they headed to the car.

"He took the money and the drugs the woman had with her. He sold the drugs and this morning two dead people showed up where he was selling the drugs." Vivian explained to them.

"Drugs? Where did Anna Perkins get the drugs from? What for? Her profile doesn't indicate that she uses or traffics…" Martin began.

Sam looked at him with a significant and strange look and Martin couldn't help but remember the question she had asked about Danny. 'No, Danny would never mess around with drugs', He said to himself. A gang member, maybe, but drugs…never. No way.

"Martin, open the door," Sam ordered, waiting for her colleague who was still thinking about the matter.

…..

"Where do you know her from?" Martin asked.

"Who says I know her?" Whalberg replied sharply.

"We know she spent the night with you, Mr. Whalberg. So, either you cooperate and answer the question or you'll become our prime suspect," Sam said.

"What happened to her?" Whalberg asked.

"She's missing," Martin said. "Answer our question,"

Whalberg burst into laughter, even before Martin had finished his demand.

"And she's a minor," Sam added. This guy was getting on her last nerves.

"Shit is a minor, she's not. She knew very well what she was doing. Who's looking for her, that bastard of a father?"

Sam felt a punch of rage but the question made her think back to her own story, her own teen years when she tried to escape from home. Had they correctly done Anna Perkins' profile? Would Mr. Perkins have lied when he reported her disappearance? She shivered with hesitation, but nobody noticed it.

"Listen, we only want to find her. And yes, she's a minor. If her father is what you say he is, we'll take care of it, but if you know something and she suffers any accident, you'll be an accomplice. If I were you, I'd start talking," Martin insisted.

"All right," Whalberg said, after a while. "I don't want problems. I gave her some money for the bus. She was leaving with her boyfriend…to San Francisco, I think."

"She went by bus?"

"That's what she said; to San Francisco on a far away journey." Whalberg tossed the butt of the cigarette and exhaled the last puff over them showing them the least respect.

Sam and Martin left that place and drove to the bus station that Whalberg had finally told them about, as Jack and Vivian worked on the options the young woman could take if she wanted to go to San Francisco. There were several ways, but Danny, with the help of the computer tech, Tom, ranked them to the most possible chooses.

An employee of the bus station that was selling the tickets, recognized the picture Sam showed him and gave them hope to find Anna Perkins, who, had probably left voluntarily and wasn't in the dangerous situation some hours before she looked to be.

"I did something like that once," Sam suddenly said, as they drove. She had remained silent for a while and he was starting wondering why.

He looked at her not knowing what to say. He also would have liked to leave home, but he always had his aunt Bonnie and his cousins. His escape consisted in spending most of his teen years with them, rather than with his parents, although he doubted they actually realized his absence. Anyway, he guessed Sam's reasons had nothing to do with his.

"And did you come back?" He finally asked.

"My mother picked me up at the bus stop, not too far from home. The last time I left, I didn't return. Tell me, Danny," Her cell phone started ringing and Sam read her colleague's name on the Caller ID. Listening carefully to him, she made a gesture for Martin to turn to the right. Ending the call, she told Martin what Danny had explained. "They took Line 105 toward Harrisburg in Pennsylvania. They're going to make a stop in Trenton. Danny says there's a change of driver there."

"New Jersey, here we go," Martin said, turning on the sirens.

…..

Danny looked at Mr. Perkins suspiciously ever since Sam had told him what Whalberg thought about him. He had decided that the guy disturbed him as much as the gang member he had interrogated before, although he would never say that. Times for running away from the liquor owner first, then police, were left very far behind.

"Are we really going to bring this girl back here?" He asked in disgust.

"I've consulted with Social Service. There isn't any report, any problem they had knowledge of. It's just the word of that Whalberg, or what the young woman said. Moreover, she had drugs; it doesn't look like she's an angel either." Vivian said.

"Yeah," Danny said thoughtfully, not very convinced.

"By the way, don't leave the office yet. Jack wants to talk to you," she said.

Danny frowned, "Me?"

"And Sam and Martin, we've been selected to make the annual evaluations," Vivian announced smirking. "Well, you've been selected."

"What evaluation?" Danny asked nervously. She laughed knowing that Danny didn't like to be evaluated, she had already noticed during the biannual psychological tests, although these were different.

"This year is our turn; the evaluations will be in two months. Sacramento and Springfield have been selected too. Joining them are going to be the divisions that requested the evaluations voluntarily." Jack had called them into his office, after the case they had been working for the last forty-two hours concluded. He handed each one a dossier with the information.

"This is to update your personal files. It's not complicated for you. But it's also an opportunity if you're thinking about a transfer or promotion." He explained.

"This is going to look like the Olympic Games," Danny said upset.

"There are also written tests, laws, strategy and procedural techniques, psychological tests…" Martin read.

"Of course," Danny continued in the same tone. "What the hell is this, Jack?"

"How long has it been since you've gone to the gym, Danny?" Sam asked smirking. "And I don't mean your neighborhood gym."

Danny frowned.

"Do you remember the personal defense techniques, resistance…all those things they taught you in Quantico?" She asked.

"Come one, guys," Jack said. "It'll be like a game, right? But Sam's right, Danny. Sometimes we need something else other than the everyday job, so you shouldn't lower your guard."

"I haven't lowered my guard," Danny protested.

"Do you want to try?" Sam challenged him.

"No way. I'm going back home. Can I leave?" He asked Jack.

He found himself looking at a smirking smile from his boss. "Of course."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**FBI Headquarters. New York, April 3. 2005**

"We're going to go practice at the gun range. Do you want to join us?" Sam asked.

Five weeks had passed since Jack had given them that dossier and the bets about what team would get the highest points, had taken a simple evaluation and converted it into a competition.

"Why don't you do a tactical training exercise?" Vivian proposed. "I'll supervise it," She offered. "Come on, it's not a usual occurrence for us not to have anything to do in the office," She continued.

Danny looked at his watch. "It's true, it's still early. And we'll have some fun with it, instead of shooting at an unmoving bulls-eye target."

Two hours later, Vivian read the results and was surprised. They'd had time to practice some tactical training and also took some shots at the bulls-eye target, withstanding Danny's protest after having fun for a while.

"Wow…Sacramento and Springfield should take it seriously if you repeat these results during the evaluations. Do you want to go out for a drink to celebrate?" She suggested.

"Sure," Sam agreed.

"Yes, give us ten minutes to change our clothes. Where are we going? Backstreet?" Martin suggested. "It's close and…"

"Eh…I…I have to leave, I'm sorry guys," Danny interrupted. He'd never take the risk of going into Backstreet. They had a whiskey that was difficult to resist.

The three of them looked at him, waiting for something else to say. "I have arranged a meeting," He added.

…..

"Weird," Sam said.

Martin nodded, wondering if Sam knew about the dangerous relationship Danny had, had with the alcohol. Several weeks ago, Danny had told him something that he'd suspected but still felt uncomfortable. He didn't know if it was the fact Danny was still attending AA after so many years or the effort he had to make every single day, to get through the strong desire of drinking alcohol. If he knew, Sam probably knew as well. Anyway, Danny had met them more than once in a bar with no problem. "Weird," He concluded aloud.

"Why? Our friend has a social life, unlike either of you," Vivian said with a smirk. "Weird is the result of the practice you just had. I think our friend is taking it seriously. He got a one hundred percent."

"Wow," Sam exclaimed, "And he didn't want to do to the tactical training practice."

"Danny doesn't like to be evaluated. You know how nervous he gets." Martin objected.

"Yes, but if he doesn't have any other option, he prepares well for it," Vivian said. "He doesn't like failing either." She added with a smile.

No, Danny Taylor didn't like to fail, but in his own value scale, he was the one with less possibilities of anything. Without devaluating his colleagues' work, they also had something else that he didn't. Vivian was Jack's right hand. Sam was his very close friend and Martin… well, Martin, even he tried hard not feeling that way, he was the son of the Deputy Director of the FBI. Who was Danny Taylor? He knew what his position was and if he wanted to stay like that, he needed to get the best results every time he was evaluated, just to stay like that. He didn't want any promotion, any change. He wanted that. And he wouldn't give them any excuse to fail.

Yes, he had managed a plan; in a gym close to home, in his neighborhood, as Sam had said. He was preparing for the evaluations since the very first moment that dossier came to him. Self-defense, boxing, resistance and some running before going to work every day, started tuning-up an anatomy genetically generous in response.

…..

It was in that gym where, at the end of April, he met Robert Conrad, coincidentally, a night the man saw him training and proposed to him a hand to hand combat. That coincidence wasn't actually a coincidence, even though at the moment, Danny didn't have a clue about what was going on. During that first meeting, Conrad beat him badly in the ring.

**FBI. New York, May 2005**

They didn't win. Sacramento got the best result in the physical tests and Springfield on the theories. Still, there was someone who got one hundred percent in every individual test. Danny Taylor.

Nobody realized it when the individual qualifications were being published as they were doing the tests. Not even Danny, who was aware of the wrong answers during a test he hadn't really enjoyed and he had left complaining, like every time they tried to ask him something about his personal life.

His time was up and he was still trying to find a right answer for an uncomfortable question he didn't find a reason why. There were only four people in the room and one of them was him, before that damn questionnaire and he was feeling the eyes of the three supervisors over him, waiting for him to give them the paper. He saw two of his colleagues standing up and he mentally realized that only one woman, sitting three rows behind him and him, were still trying to finish the test. "_If you had to trust your life a single person, who would that person be?_" Four hours later since the beginning of the exercise, he didn't have an answer for that question and he really wanted to write something, but the interest the FBI could have on it made him distrust. It could be a recurrent question, but he didn't think it was. Nothing that had happened during all the tests and physical exercises looked to be recurrent or casual. And it didn't look like a competition either. And now, he was blocked. The woman stood up and giving her questionnaire to the supervisors, she left. Then three pairs of eyes focused on him.

The answer he finally wrote down was the only possible answer in that second of paranoia he suffered and didn't find any justification to see his qualification in that test: one hundred percent. It couldn't be true; Fox Mulder was a fictional character.

"Eighty-two percent," Martin had gotten and he was proud of it, he who had taken some time to get all his qualifications and calculate it, before getting the official result.

"Eighty-four," Sam smirked. "And I won the strategy test over you."

Danny didn't say a word, not even looking at the results before getting his official letter with all his qualifications. But another person had seen it. Someone who had tapped his phone, his computer, had installed a small camera over his desk and at home, someone that had followed him during the last month and had been studying every single answer and movement during those tests. Someone who had beaten him hard in a ring and was surprised by the resistance the young man showed.

Robert Conrad had found his operations boss.

…

**May, 30. 2005. Langley, Virginia. CIA**

Reading carefully the dossier his agent had given him, John Davis, Area Director of the CIA and Robert Conrad's direct boss, he understood the reasons to choose him to be the operations boss. Still, he had some doubts.

"That's right, I see that he meets all the requirements I asked, Conrad, but this man doesn't have any experience in leading a team," He said, still reading the dossier.

"He got one hundred percent in the evaluation tests. That's not something that's usual, it'll be easy to prepare him for this mission," FBI Director John McAllister objected. He felt proud and disgusted at the same time about having chosen an FBI agent for that mission. He didn't want to lose someone so valuable.

"And you wanted someone without connection to the Agency," General Moore commented.

"But we don't have time. The operation started more than a month ago. And if we need time to prepare this agent, when will we have a team to send to the island with some guarantees?" Davis objected thoughtfully.

"Let me do it, I'll work with him personally. I assure you, Sir, that I believe that in a couple of months you'll have a team ready for…"

"Do it in a month, or less," His boss ordered. "We need Miranda back in the Unite States if we want to end this matter. And we need him alive. We need his information."

"Yes, the sooner we do, the better," The General agreed.

"So, we'll have to take him out of his current job," The Director of the FBI said thoughtfully. "And that means to give some explanations and orders. I'll have to think about it."

"There's no need," Conrad objected. "Sir, I think he's able to keep doing his job and prepare for the mission. I'll supervise him."

"Yes, but at some point he's going to leave."

"Not necessarily," Conrad objected. "Once the mission begins, it'll be fast. Less than a week and he'll be back." He liked Taylor and he knew he was forcing the situation.

"What if they don't come back? Conrad, I asked for a specific profile with a reason," his boss said.

Conrad felt a knot in his stomach. But he replied coldly. "Then, Sir, it won't be difficult to put an end to it."

"With an FBI agent missing; an agent who works in Missing Persons? No, he better come back." McAllister objected with incredulity.

"You'll find a way," Davis concluded.

"He'll come back," The FBI Director replied upset.

"What happens with the rest of the team?" The General asked.

"I'll let Taylor make the plan. The plan will define the people he needs." Conrad said.

"No more than three, four if you count him," The General said. "We have five people in Guantánamo ready to help, and that's already too many people. We can't take the risk of our intentions being found out. We need to take Miranda out of the island and nobody can know it."

"Yes Sir," Conrad said. His boss handed him some folders. "Here you have everything he needs to know. You know the time that you have. Do it fast and with the utmost secrecy."

"I have another question. What guaranties do we have that your man or someone from the team won't say something? I mean, he'll want something on return, for doing…nothing?" The General asked.

McAllister shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn't the usual, but what General Moore was insinuating made him nervous. All of a sudden, Conrad felt like he didn't like to be part of that matter, but he didn't say a word or made a gesture to show his feelings.

"We'll see," The Area Director of the CIA just replied.

….

**Queens, New York, June 5. 2005**

"This is your cell phone. Use it only to contact me while we're preparing the mission. Here you have all the information you need to make a plan, I'll show it to the bosses and we'll see if they give the okay."

It was the second time they met in that café. During the first meeting, Robert Conrad had asked him to participate in a matter that, at first sight, he didn't understand. He didn't understand what interest they could have in him, or the pressure Conrad put on him to make him accept. Now, at least, he was going to know what was going on.

"How much time do I have to do it?" Danny asked.

Conrad grimaced. "You don't have much time, just three or four days. How's your workload right now?" Conrad knew the exact answer to that question, but he didn't want his man to know that all his movements were watched.

"We don't have a case right now, but anything can show up at any moment," Danny replied worried.

"I know there's no time, but do the best you can, I know you can do it," Conrad encouraged him, although he'd feel better telling the complete opposite. "Remember, don't talk with anybody else," He added. "Ah, you can count on three more people. At your choice, not the people but what you want them to do. The choice is ours."

"CIA?" Danny asked.

"I don't know yet, you make the plan, tell me what you need and I'll do my part."

"All right," Danny agreed quietly.

"Call me when you're ready," Conrad told him, pointing to the cell phone. Standing up, he paid his drink and left.

Danny remained in the café for a while thinking about what had just happened. What was he doing? He thought disgusted. Looking at his watch, he realized he would be on time to attend one of his AA meetings, but it wasn't a good idea to take the documents Conrad had given him, there. Three or four days, he'd better start working immediately.

The situation worried him. When he finished reading the files, he didn't understand why he had been chosen. Conrad had told him something about the tests he had done so well, but there was something else, and it wasn't his Cuban origins. For some reason, the CIA didn't want to directly implicate themselves in the mission so that made him consider that he should better take some additional precautions. He wasn't prepared for that mission, it wasn't his job.

Leaving the café, Robert Conrad looked at his watch, quickly stopped a taxi and gave him an address. Several hours later he found himself sitting down in front of the very Director of the CIA in Langley, Virginia.

**New York, June 8, 2005**

Three days later since their last meeting in the café, as he sat beside Martin in the car on their way to interview a potential witness, Danny did something he knew he shouldn't have done, but he did it anyway, aware that his colleague would remember. He didn't know yet the reason for his natural distrust and the usefulness of what he was trying to do. Picking up the cell phone Conrad had given to him, he pushed a number.

On the other end of the line he soon heard his voice. "Tell me, Taylor." It was clear that the line was safe; otherwise, he would have never said his name.

"I've got your assignment done," He said.

"Good," Conrad replied. Danny noticed a surprising tone. "Let's meet tonight, you tell the time. I'll set the place. I'll text it to you."

"I'm working, I don't know when that could be," Danny said, noticing Martin taking some interest.

"Don't care. You call me as soon as possible. Don't care the time, but do it today," Conrad ordered.

"All right, I'll call you," Danny agreed, ending the call and putting the cell phone into his pocket. The question came just after.

"What's that?" Martin asked; his eyes on the road.

"Nothing, my business," Danny replied.

"I meant the cell phone," He continued.

"I don't like using the office cell phone for personal business," Danny replied.

"Are you afraid that big brother is listening to?" Martin asked smiling.

"Don't be paranoid, Martin," Danny said.

"Look who's talking. Hey…what did you get in the evaluation tests?" He asked then.

Danny grimaced, searching in his memory what his colleagues had gotten. "Eighty-one percent," He lied. All of a sudden, he thought that it could be another good clue, even if he didn't know for what, in that moment. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat and he only felt better when they spotted the person they were searching for. Martin stopped the car and they headed quickly to him. Martin showed his badge and at the first attempt to hide, the young man faced Danny who blocked his escape. "We only want to talk," He said with a smile as he invaded his personal space in an intimidating manner.

….

Next time Martin saw Danny using that cell phone, not only he had witnessed it. Sam was also there and jumped slightly at hearing the discreet and peculiar _beep_. "Excuse me," Danny said standing up where they were talking about the last information they had received about the case. Turning back, he talked whispering, but not quiet enough as Martin and Sam realized that he wasn't speaking English, but Spanish and so fast that no one was able to understand a word; especially Martin, who had been practicing his Spanish. Both agents exchanged an intrigued look. "He said he doesn't want to use the office cell phone for personal business," Martin explained.

"What?" She asked in surprise.

Martin shrugged his shoulders right when Danny joined them again. "Where were we?" He simply asked. However, his mind was working fast over other matters very different from what he had before him, something that he had been training a lot for during the last several days.

Five days later, he wouldn't be there and he had still things to do. He had a team of his absolute trust and the plan he had made for them was working out accurately. How they had been recruited he ignored it and they hadn't given too much information about them, just what he needed to work that mission.


	7. Chapter 7

_Flashback_

_**Queens, New York. June, 8 2005**_

"_I need four people," He told Conrad as he examined the plan Danny had written._

"_I told you I'd give you three," He replied._

"_So, one of them has to be an expert in two subjects. I need an expert in short-range explosives; we'll need them to distract the guards, not to make anything explode; an expert in computers, a hacker or something to be able to enter the official sites to make our profiles. I'll need it for them and for leaving the prison. If you give me three people, one of them should be able to falsify documents. On fourth hand, I need a doctor."_

"_A doctor?" Conrad asked surprised._

"_It's to take care of Andrés Miranda. He should be able to get out of the prison by himself but if he's badly injured, he won't be able to do it. I need a doctor to take care of him before leaving," Danny explained. "The rest of conditions they should have I presume it, of the three of them."_

_Conrad nodded as he read the handwritten and signed document. "Are you aware of what you're doing? Are you sure about this?" He asked as he read a specific paragraph in the document._

"_I'm not sure," Danny replied somewhat nervously. "If we'd had more time… but given the only time we have…it's the best I can think of."_

"_All right, you've done an excellent job, Taylor." Conrad shook his hand as he stood up. "From now on, if this gets approved, we'll meet here every time, all right?"_

"_Right," Danny conceded._

_The next meeting took place six days later. In a really short time, Conrad, after the plan being approved by his boss, found the three people Danny had asked for. As it was stated from that moment, Danny would lead the team and Robert Conrad would never have any contact with them personally. That was another risk to take; he would let Taylor evaluate the capacity of those people, although, despite the short time he'd had, he supposed Taylor had done his job well._

_Patrick González was the member of the team that worried him the most, not because of his expertise but because of his inexperience. He would have to learn quickly. Unsure of that person, he shook his head in disbelief as he read the profile Conrad had given to him, before meeting him personally._

_When the door was opened, he wasn't surprised by the man who sat down in front of him, after doubting what seat he should take. _

"_Listen," He started. "I'll do whatever you ask, I won't interfere in your matters again, but…but you have to give me back my stuff. All my work is in there. I'm a videogame programmer, I swear you I won't…"_

_As he nervously spoke, Danny didn't even look at him, pretending he wasn't listening to him, pretending to be reading the documents he had already memorized, including what Patrick was telling him. It was clear that being there was his punishment for messing with the CIA's computer systems. Danny didn't care or he did. If he had done that, Patrick was exactly who he needed._

_Raising his head, he stared at him and Patrick stopped talking. Danny smiled. "How are you? I'm Diego Hernández," He said in Spanish. "Operations Boss for this mission. You must be wondering why we called you."_

"_Yes, Sir… that's what I'm wondering," Patrick replied in Spanish also, as he shook the hand that Danny offered. "I suppose I don't have any other option, if I don't want to get into more trouble, but I don't understand what you want from me."_

"_You're a hacker, Tony," Danny said. _

_Patrick jumped. "My name's Patrick."_

"_No, your name is Tony. Tony Rodríguez. It's the name you're going to use with me and with your colleagues. It's the first lesson you have to learn. I know that you haven't been trained, you're not used to handling what you're going to confront, but we'll teach you, right Tony?"_

_Patrick felt confused._

"_Okay, your mission will basically consist in creating a smokescreen, a fake profile, for me and another colleague you'll meet soon. Here you go," He handed a folder with some handwritten papers which surprised him a lot. 'Were there still people who used a pen to write official documents?' "Read it, study it, and prepare it. Your colleagues will do the same and then we'll discuss it together."_

_Patrick skimmed the documents and swallowed hard. "Sir, I don't understand…"_

"_Don't call me Sir, my name's Diego, remember? I told you before," Danny insisted. At that moment, establishing a trusting relationship was very important. He had to establish it quickly and he knew that Patrick wasn't a person who trusts anybody easily. So, the trust would come from his part._

"_I need to know that you can do this, Tony. I absolutely trust you, I've read what you usually do and I believe that you're the best person to protect the team," He explained quietly._

_Patrick looked at him speechless. Who trusted him? Looking into his eyes, he didn't find any trace of that guy lying to him or playing games. The man before him looked to be his same age and Patrick wished to have the same conviction Diego Hernández showed, something Danny had been working hard lately to do._

"_All right," Tony smiled nervously. "Sir, you can…you can count on me," He rectified remembering the treatment his boss had asked._

"_Well, we don't have too much time, so the sooner you begin the better. We'll meet here tomorrow. Uhm…I'll tell you the time later." Danny gave him a cell phone exactly like his, which Conrad had given to him. "If you need to call me, just push number one on the phone. Uhm… one more thing," He continued after a pause. "Don't talk about this with anybody. If you do, I'll know and if I know, other people you won't like to know will know also and I can't take responsibility for them and what they might do. I need to trust you."_

"_Yes, of course, right," Patrick replied, taking the cell phone and examining it. "Uhm…eh…I…I live in San Francisco. Where am I going to live here?"_

_Danny handed him a card that Conrad had given to him, "Courtesy of the Central Intelligence Agency. They're taking care of all the costs."_

…_.._

_The following member of the team reminded him of himself when he was his age and Jack Malone looked at him with disdain. He didn't do that._

_The young twenty-five year old man stood at attention as soon as he entered and said his name in a military tone. Danny looked at him and made his first objection to the young man. "Don't stand like you're still in the Army, you aren't," He said._

_Losing part of the confidence his usual attitude gave him, Alex Córdoba didn't know what to do, except shake the hand Danny offered and take a seat. "I see you have an extensive experience working with explosives. You're a young man, Miguel, where did you learn to do this? I suppose only in the Army, no."_

_Now, he was speechless. "Sir, I…" He started._

"_Don't call me Sir. Excuse me; I'm Diego Hernández, your Operations Boss from now on. But don't call me Sir, don't stand like you're a soldier and no, I'm not wrong. From now on, you're Miguel Dorta, alright?"_

_The young man nodded. "I understand the idea, Sir…I mean, Diego. When are we going to begin? What are we going to do?" Once the first moment was over, Alex was the anxious and experienced young man Danny had read in his profile._

"_Answer my question. I read in your file that you're familiar with explosives, your family had a pyrotechnics business…"_

"_Yes, I helped my uncle and aunt with the exhibitions at the festivals. We got several awards, it wasn't a simple hobby," Alex smiled, remembering those years._

"_What happened? Why did you leave?" Danny asked._

"_I didn't. My uncle and my aunt died in a car accident. My uncle was tired, he fell asleep as he was driving, lost the control of the car. They died, I survived."_

"_I understand," Danny said. Their force and vigor wasn't the only thing they shared._

"_Yes, I was lucky. At that moment an Army convoy was passing by and they helped us. Thanks to them, I'm here right now. A few minutes later and I would have died also," Alex explained with a grimace._

"_Yes, you were lucky. So, then you thought about becoming a soldier?"_

"_Not exactly, I don't really know why. He never told me, I was seventeen when the accident happened and one of the soldiers took care of me. He visited me in the hospital, and then helped me with the documents and my entire life, definitely. I don't know why he did it. He was the one suggesting me to join the Army."_

"_And…does that soldier have a name? Do you keep contact with him?" Danny asked._

"_Yes, he was recently promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, Andrew Miller."_

"_Okay, Miguel. There's one thing I want you to understand from now on. What we're doing here, what we're going to do, nobody can know about. Not even Andrew Miller."_

"_Of course, Sir. I had understood that part," Alex replied with a serious and confident expression._

_This time, Danny didn't correct him for the way he addressed him. "I need two things from you. I know that apart from the explosives, you're good at working with documents."_

_Alex nodded. "Yes, that's something I specialized in the Army. And I'm good. I've done some stuff with passports and official documents…some arrived at the White House."_

"_Yeah, I read that," Danny smiled. "You'll work mainly with one of your colleagues, Tony Rodríguez. He's an expert in computers. Join him to make a profile for me and another colleague, apart from yours, of course. So, how good are you at repairing cars?"_

_Alex grinned from ear to ear._

_When he left that place, with a card and an address of the place where he would live in New York from then on, free of costs and a folder with the documents he would work on, he felt the excitation the adrenaline caused on him before the events he was going to live._

…

_Jason Díaz went into the room just and faced him head on. Not even feeling fear of anything or uncertainty. Instead, the complete opposite happened. Danny had read about the man that Diaz had worked as a doctor in a NATO base in Germany, before retiring. Now, in the Reserve, he worked as pediatrician in a hospital set in Orlando._

_Before so much belligerence, Danny opted by being clear and explaining him the situation. The same one he had been given. "The Agency has a matter to solve with certain urgency," He began. "Sit down, please," He said pointing at a seat. It wasn't until Jason finally sat down, that he continued talking. "There's uncertain information about the reliability of an undercover group of agents on the island."_

"_On the island," Jason repeated in Spanish, the language he had been talked._

"_In Cuba, in a prison in Santiago, specifically, there's an imprisoned man, a spy who has valuable information about what's going on with the group that the Agency sent several years ago. I don't know the reason for his imprisonment, but the information we've got indicates that the group itself betrayed him."_

"_And, why are you telling me all of this? Why don't you go to look for him?" Jason asked._

"_We don't know if there are any other people implicated, and not only on the island. So, they have selected a small group, us, and a supporter group from Guantánamo, marines. We have to go into the island and return this man back to the United States."_

"_Why me?" Jason asked._

"_You're a doctor with military experience and an attitude the Agency considered positively. I can't tell you much. It could have been another person, but it's you."_

"_Where are the others? I suppose there are other people in this."_

"_We're four people, you'll meet them and you'll work with them. But your main mission is taking care of Andrés Miranda. He's the man that we have to take out of the island. The information about his health is not good; it seems he has received more than one beating in prison. I need him in good condition in order to take him out. There are some things he has to do by himself and his injuries can't prevent him from being ready."_

"_Am I going to go into prison?" Jason asked fearfully._

"_We're going to go into prison, you and me." Danny replied._

_Jason shook his head in disgust. "This is not happening."_

"_Nothing bad will happen to you, Doctor. I'll take care of that."_

"_Can you guarantee it?" Jason looked into his eyes._

"_I can. You have to trust me. By the way, I haven't told you my name, I'm Diego Hernández, Operations Boss."_

_End of flashback_

**New York, July 8, 2005**

Danny looked at the time and rubbed his eyes. It was 3:45AM and two days were left until the departure. If until then the activity of preparing for the mission had kept him focused on it, it was now when he began feeling really nervous.

Revising the document once again, he finally signed and dated it. A final copy of the entire plan he had elaborated to be put into practice the following hours, days, weeks. Folding the papers, he put them into an envelope and sealed it. Another copy was in Robert Conrad's hands, who, beside the initial draft Danny had written, put them in a security box in his office.

Danny wouldn't keep the document either. As soon as he arrived at the FBI office at 6:30AM, he headed to his desk, opened the first drawer, removed its contents and removed the drawer. Looking around, making sure to stay unnoticed by those who were arriving at that time of the morning, he picked up the envelope from his bag and attached it to the back side of the drawer, underneath. Returning it to its natural position, Danny once again put its contents back into the drawer.

Stretching his hand, not really knowing why, he removed the small picture he had on his board, a picture of him and his parents. He looked at it for a moment and put into his jacket pocket. Just like Alex Córdoba's parents, his parents had died in a car accident and he had survived, even if the circumstances that provoked that fatality had been very different.

Then, he went in search of coffee. He hadn't slept and they had a long day of work ahead and he didn't want to fall asleep. But he had to talk to Jack.

He knew his boss would arrive early, his addiction to the work was well known and he wasn't wrong when he saw him heading to his office with a newspaper in his hands. Trying to calm down, he mentally went over what he wanted to tell him. The exercises of concentration he had been learning with Conrad had resulted very useful to work the two situations, working at the FBI and preparing for the mission, and now it'd help to stay calm.

With his coffee mug in hand, he headed to Jack's office. It wasn't a bad moment; his colleagues hadn't arrived and they wouldn't witness that conversation. Knocking softly on the glass door, he opened as soon as he noticed Jack raising his eyes from the newspaper.

"Jack, I have to talk to you," He said sitting down in front of him.

Looking at the time, Jack frowned. "What's going on?" He asked guessing that it wouldn't be anything related to work.

"I'm going to leave for a while," Danny announced. "About two weeks, maybe a little more."

"Alright," Jack agreed, trying to remember when Danny had last taken a vacation. Surely he had some days free. However, his agent's body language told him that there was something else. "Is there something you want to tell me?" He asked.

"I'm going undercover for the CIA," Danny announced, seeing his boss getting paler as he spoke.

"What!" He yelled. "Are you crazy?! What are you thinking, Danny?!"

"It wasn't my idea," Danny explained, he'd expected that reaction.

"You don't know what you're doing, Danny. This is…"

"It wasn't my idea, Jack," Danny repeated. "They called me personally to do this job. I'm not supposed to tell you anything but I need you to know. I know it's a risky situation and I have an approximated idea of where I'm going. But they didn't give me another choice. I think you'd understand this also," He said in the calmest tone he could.

"The evaluations," Jack said then.

"Probably, it had something to do with it. I shouldn't have prepared for them so well. Instead of a promotion like you said, it's only getting me into trouble. That's why I need you to know that I'm not going on vacation time even if that's what it looks like. I need someone alert to what's going on and I don't know anyone else better than you."

"I can't believe what you're telling me. Can you tell me something about this job?"

"I can only tell you that I'm going to leave the country and as soon as I'm back I'll let you know. It's important Jack. It's…it's a security measure. You can't tell anyone what I'm going to do."

"You haven't told me anything yet."

"I can't tell you much. I'm doing too much telling you this. Can I trust you?" Danny asked.

"Of course you can," Jack said standing up.

Danny stood up also and he was going to open the door when he felt his boss' hand on his shoulder. He turned surprised, as Jack hugged him. It wasn't his usual behavior. Actually, it said nothing about the personality of his supervisor, usually distant and never showing his emotions.

"Be careful. This is going to change your life, it's going to change you," He said with a sad expression that surprised Danny.

"I hope not," He said. "Thanks Jack," He tried to smile as he opened the door and headed to his desk. There, he put apart all his emotions and focused on work he was going to begin but wouldn't end.

…..


	8. Chapter 8

**Langley, Virginia. July 7, 2005**

Robert Conrad left the office with a tense expression he didn't care to hide. The shift of the events actually matched better to his style of work than the meetings he had been having with his boss, while they were preparing for the mission. After his suspicions and the parallel investigation he had started, the help he was going to ask from the Operations boss one day before the beginning of the mission, was going to be crucial and risky. He didn't feel comfortable with it, he liked Taylor. Fortunately, the FBI agent had taken some measures that would make it easier if it was necessary. Pulling out the cell phone he used to contact him, he called him. At that time, he would be in a meeting with his team.

"I need to talk to you immediately," he ordered. "Meet me where we met the first time." Conrad ended the call, certain that Danny would remember the place.

"What's going on, Diego?" Javier asked noticing his boss's worried expression. "Is there a setback?"

"No, I hope not," Danny replied. "Well, guys, do what I've asked you to, alright? It's important."

"How do we have to contact them?" Miguel asked.

"By phone, it's important they feel the trust and confidence, it's important they remember and get ready when they receive your call, later," Danny explained. What he was asking them, he did the day before, with Jack.

"Any doubts or questions? Tony?" he asked specifically when he noticed Tony frowning.

"No…no, it's okay, boss," he said.

"Well, I'll come back soon," Danny said and left that place.

He was intrigued about what Conrad had to tell him. The tone of his voice sounded worried and serious. The beginning of the mission was imminent and he surely was going to receive new specific instructions to take into consideration.

Taking a cab, he gave the address of the gym, where he had been training for the FBI evaluations, in Queens, two blocks from his home, there when he had met Robert Conrad, who, pretending to be a New York policeman was already evaluating his possibilities for the mission. The FBI evaluations had something to do with the choice, Danny thought then, but he had been recruited for another matter. He wondered what, as a shiver ran down his spine.

He saw Conrad waiting for him at the entrance of the gym and they took another cab that stopped at a nearby café. They went into the café and Danny could only follow him, through the local and leaving through a short corridor, going upstairs and opening other door. Danny finally found himself in an apartment, maybe Conrad's home. He wondered why they were taking so many precautions. All the questions made him get a headache aside from the accumulated tension from the last days as they prepared a mission which every detail he had constantly in his mind.

Until that moment, Robert Conrad hadn't said a word, but when he did, Danny was plenty aware of what he was going to actually do.

….

**Langley, Virginia. March 7, 2006.**

Robert Conrad left his office and headed to meet John Davis, who he found revising several documents he hoped were related to Miranda's case and the team that had recently returned to Washington.

"Sir," he caught his attention.

"Take a seat, Bob," Davis asked in a confident tone. "This… this has been a mess. I had my objections when you chose your operations boss to take Miranda out of the island, and reading this I… I know I was right. Have you read this report?"

"No, sir. But the plan to evacuate Miranda worked out. We couldn't know that one of the contacts in the military base was implicated. We always knew that there was that risk, Sir. I remember it was the reason you asked for a specific profile," Robert objected.

"And we're still at the same point. We don't know what happened or what those people did. Miranda's death was a significant loss. He would have told us who was implicated…oh well. Read it and you'll understand what I mean," Davis said, handing the report to him.

"Is this the report the technicians got from the laptops in the house?"

"Of course, they were asked to keep the laptops and cell phones connected to the Agency for a reason, Conrad; you look a rookie," Davis replied with a smirk.

He wasn't, of course. Conrad only wanted to make the words favorable for his intentions. And it was working out great. Smiling, Davis thought he smiled because of his comment, but nothing was further than the truth of what Conrad was actually thinking.

"What the hell is this?" He asked as soon as he finished reading the report.

"Too many gaps, Bob, you know? I have the feeling that your man was hiding information. He was asked to write a detailed report, not only him but also his coworkers. And there are so many things without a satisfactory explanation. What have they been doing all this time? Why did one of them tell about a relationship with one of the main suspects, Clara Torres and why a report about her was asked as soon as they arrived to the base? Were they trying to cover their actions? Why did they decide to leave now? If I'm right, they tried to evacuate Miranda last July. We're in March. And you also said it would have been a matter of a couple of weeks."

"I understand. What do you need me to do, Sir?" Conrad asked.

"I want to interrogate him. He has to explain all of this and not only to me. I know the FBI Director and General Moore are anxious to know what went wrong with this mission. We haven't gotten the information we needed from Miranda and now we have a new problem with this. Do you realize this was the only chance we had? If the corrupted people know about this, which by the looks of it has already happened, we're never going to know who they were."

Davis' threatening tone earned him silence from Robert Conrad, who just showed a worried expression on his face, all as his blood boiled in rage inside him.

"Well, I'll let him know a date for a meeting," he replied. "What about… March 20th?" he suggested, as he mentally planned his best option. He wanted his man ready for that meeting and he knew he would need time. He feared an earlier suggestion but fortunately, Davis agreed.

….

**Columbia Heights, Washington D.C. March 8, 2006**

Once the first week was over, the coexistence became routine which began with the messenger every day at nine o'clock knocking on the door. Actually, he only brought groceries, Alex enjoyed his guitar, Jason had been able to remove the beard and mustache from his face, Patrick played his mp3 and Danny got the dossier with the report about Clara Torres that he'd requested.

While Patrick was preparing breakfast, Jason briefly examined Alex's injured hand and took care of Danny, who despite barely eating, felt much better. Jason was satisfied to see that his stomach pain was less intense and the bruises and inflammation had nearly disappeared. The cuts from his back healed well and he wouldn't need to be worried about it anymore. However, the encouraging words still hid some worry and Jason continued asking him to take some pills for any reason he had in mind. Actually, the doctor would kill for to be able to run some medical tests on his boss.

Distractedly playing Alex's guitar, Jason remembered the opportunity Danny had given him, before connecting the cell phones to the Agency, to opportunity to talk to the only person who knew that he was in a sort of military mission that he wasn't allowed to talk about, something related to his past in the army. Even if they had only been dating for three months, Jason didn't think about any other person he could trust, except her. Laura. And he owed her that, especially after their disastrous last meeting and the quick departure to New York. Yes, it would be Laura or he would definitely lose her.

The 10:30 AM news didn't offer any new information one week after they'd moved in. Neither was there any new information provided the two weeks Danny had thought had passed or the five weeks Jason had been told had passed, so nobody expected anything.

Danny was working hard on something, but he didn't say anything to them. The last meeting had been about reading and completing the detailed reports they had been asked to write. It was the day when Jason and Danny knew about the work that Patrick and Alex had been doing and they knew about the conditions Jason and Danny had been through in the prison.

The reports were in the laptops, and Danny wondered what to do with them, since he wasn't able to make a copy for himself, or print them. And he knew he had something to do with it. It was essential for this mission.

From his point of view, the matter he had been discussing with Conrad the day before the mission began was clear after reading the individual reports and the one he wrote with the conclusions. The difference of the two parts of the mission, before and after evacuating Miranda only could make one conclusion: they shouldn't have returned. Their profiles were clear, the Cuban origins or their expertise were important, but the fact that they didn't have family to take care of, any siblings to ask for them, had been the real main reason for their recruitment. But it didn't mean that they couldn't count on anybody. So Danny had taken care of it before the mission began. He didn't know who Jason, Alex or Patrick had contacted, but he had contacted the only person he could trust his life to, Jack Malone. Remembering his answer to the question in the evaluation test, he couldn't help but smile. If anyone went over that evaluation looking for information they would be in for a surprise. No, Fox Mulder was a fictional character.

"What are you laughing at?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, no reason. Listen, Patrick, maybe you could help me. I'd like to send an email with our reports to a specific address, but I don't want anybody to know about it and I don't want the person who receives the email to be able to read them."

"That's nonsense, boss. Why are going to send something to someone if you don't want that person to read it?"

"I just want to send it, as a…secured copy or something."

Patrick looked at him incredulously. "A secured copy sent by email from a computer that's under CIA control." He shook his head. "That's not the way."

"So? How do I do it? How do I send this to someone? I want to have it somewhere else, not only here, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, well first you'd need to encode the documents, the reports," Patrick explained. "I could do it. I have some codes that could work. Then…we would have to momentarily disconnect the computer from the CIA database. We could simulate an electrical failure and then send the encoded document and voilà. There's a problem though."

"What?"

"I'm the person who would have to encode it."

Danny looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, I'll think about it. Do it."

"Now?" Patrick asked surprised.

"Yes, now, do it now. Will it take you long?"

"It'll take some time to encode the reports, yes. I don't have my notes here, so I'll need to remember some things from memory. Give me some time, alright?

"Okay, it's all yours," Danny told him as he gave Patrick his laptop.

Patrick sat down in front of him and sighed.

"You haven't asked," Danny said all of a sudden.

"What?"

"You haven't asked why I want to do this," Danny was so serious that Patrick felt a lump in his throat. What had he missed?

"I understand it's a security measure. I do that all the time. But, now that you mention it…why do you want to do this?" he asked.

"This is the third part of the plan," Danny replied with an intriguing look. "You'll need to work hard on this, because you're essential in it."

"Oh…really? I thought that we're just waiting to leave and go back home."

"There's something we need to do before that. For now, encode those reports and try to do your best on it. We don't need any surprises. Are we clear on that?" Danny asked.

"Sure, boss." Patrick didn't protest about Danny stealing the time from him that he was going to use to devote to smoke the last Cuban cigar he had taken from an administration office, aside from a bunch of papers with official logo, where Alex had falsified the order of transfer for prisoners Diego Hernández and Javier Santos.

Danny took that time to go upstairs to his room. Lying on the bed he stretched out his entire body trying to relieve the pain that insisted to be his best friend inside his body, as a snake revolted in his stomach. Stretching his hand, he took one of the pills Jason had given him and swallowed one, without bothering to look for some water. At that moment, not even the water would make him feel better.

**July 14, 2006**

He didn't know how much time he had. Neither the messenger nor the news had sent any messages, but during their second week staying in the house, he received the information he was waiting for. At that moment, he was happy that he'd asked Patrick to encode and send that email just in time, because the time he had now, wouldn't be enough for his computer expert.

"Alex, Patrick, you're going to leave," he announced. "Take your things, I'll tell you what I want you to do. Ah, don't forget take the suit you found in the dresser. If everything goes well, the next time we'll meet will be in Langley."

"Langley? CIA?" Alex asked.

"Exactly, get ready to leave," he ordered.

Both ran upstairs, as Jason frowned. "What happened?"

"I've got instructions. We'll finish this in the office of the Area Director of the CIA at 9:30AM on March 20th."

"But, where are Patrick and Alex going?"

"They have a job to do. What about your contact? Can we trust them?

"Of course, what kind of question is that?" Jason asked.

"Our contacts will play an important part from now on, Jason."

Jason paled. "You could have told me that beforehand and I wouldn't have counted on her."

"Why? I just asked you to keep contact with someone you could trust."

"Yes, but I didn't think she would have to do anything."

"In this case, the only important thing is that she's someone you really trust. Is she? You're not going to put her life at risk, Jason."

"May I ask what this is about?" Jason asked clearly upset.

"She'll have some documents in custody to take to Langley the day of the meeting, not only her, my contact and Alex's contact too."

"What documents?"

"Our reports, the ones we wrote in our laptops. This is what Patrick has been working on, encoding and sending them to a secured email. And now he needs to leave to decode, print and giving them to our contacts."

Jason looked at him incredulously. "And take them to Langley."

"Exactly."

"Why?" Jason asked. "I thought the computers were connected to the CIA. I thought they would get the reports directly."

"It's… a security measure," Danny replied. Jason was right, but that matter was part of what Conrad had asked him to do, trying to get proof against the Area Director, John Davis.

"What's going to happen in Langley that I don't know about yet?"

"You're going to reunite with your girlfriend," Danny replied with a smile.

"Son of a bitch," Jason muttered, turning his back to Danny.

….


	9. Chapter 9

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 9**

**Queens, New York. March, 14. 2006**

"Where's that computer?" Patrick muttered looking around, as soon as he entered.

Alex closed the door of the apartment carefully, while the man who had opened the door was still reading sceptically, the note Patrick had given to him. Signed by Danny Taylor, it explained that he should give the key of the apartment to his cousin Patrick, which he had already done. But it had been a long time since he saw Danny for the last time and he was suspicious. Or maybe it was his natural distrust of people.

The apartment was silent and comfortably in order. Patrick grimaced as he remembered the mess of his own apartment and thinking about where Danny would have put the important things. Walking into his boss' bedroom, he bent down and pulled out a small box. He didn't need to open it to know what it contained. "God," he thought remembering what he had put in a similar box resting under his bed. The connection he believed to create with him at that moment, made his mind get lost in some old memory, but Alex's voice calling him, brought Patrick back to the reason that had taken them there.

On the kitchen table, Alex had found what they were looking for. As if he'd been working on it until the last moment. Did he do it on purpose? Patrick thought. Alex had opened the fridge looking for something to eat, as usual, but it was, logically, empty. "I'll order something to eat," he said.

"And, what money are you going to use?" Patrick asked as he switched on the battery charger.

Alex pulled some cash out of his pocket and looked at Patrick with a smirk.

"Damn it, Alex!" Patrick protested. If the huge man that had taken them in his truck throughout the four hours that the journey from Washington to New York took had realized it, they would have missed the precious time they needed. "I'll order pizza and beers," Alex replied.

Patrick was going to say something but stopped. For a while, he felt like he was invading the private life of his boss and the coin from Alcoholics Anonymous that he had seen in the bedroom made him hesitate. It was absurd to feel like this but still… "I don't want a beer, I have to focus on this," he said in an unusual tone coming from him.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, noticing the change in Patrick's tone.

"This is his home, Alex," Patrick replied obviously feeling uncomfortable.

"I know…" Alex was surprised. "It's been a generous gesture from him, especially since he made us jump through the backyard and confront the neighbour's huge dog…"

"You didn't think that we were going to leave through the front door…" Patrick exclaimed.

"Oh god, between Danny and you, nobody would reach your level of paranoia!"

"That paranoia is saving our asses, so shut up and let me do my job," Patrick replied, starting the computer.

He quickly focused on the matter, checking the computer in search of any type of filtration. Paranoia. Alex didn't know what he was talking about. He better take care of his stomach so he could work without any interruptions.

Looking at the time, he calculated that the time Danny had told them would be the best one; it left twenty hours to work. The computer system at the FBI would start failing at approximately 11:00AM the next morning. Half an hour later, Alex would cause a short-circuit in the system and a short time after that, two employees from the maintenance service would walk into the twelfth floor of the Federal Plaza building.

"We need the maintenance uniforms," he told Alex, turning the computer screen toward him so his partner could see the address of the maintenance services that worked with the FBI.

"Alright," Alex said. "First, I'll get the uniforms and then the pizzas."

Patrick nodded with his eyes glued to the screen.

Alex made a gesture of disapproval and left. Taking the closest subway he headed to the maintenance company not even wondering how he would get inside or get the uniforms the needed. He didn't use to think much about it, he observed, found a weakness and got in. There was always a weakness. Taking several uniforms took him some time. Working with the FBI had given that company some extra security measures, but Alex was trained to skip them, he hadn't done anything else, lately.

Without missing his stop to pick up the pizzas, three hours later he was back in the apartment. Patrick was still in the same place, same position and same attitude with the computer. "How is it going with that?" he asked.

"It's going," Patrick just said.

"I've got pizzas, beers and water. I also have two uniforms from the maintenance company, if you're interested."

"Great," Patrick just replied in a tone that made Alex doubt. Had he really heard what he said? "Good," he added then. And he raised his eyes. "It's working," he smiled satisfactorily. "Are those the uniforms?" He asked looking at the sports bag Alex had brought.

"Yes and some accessories, the bag, flashlights, gloves, tools…I've also bought some groceries for tomorrow. If Danny has given us the correct instructions, I think we'll be able to do it."

"Are you nervous?" Patrick asked as he cut a slice of pizza and noticed his partner's nervousness.

"Yeah, of course. This has to work well. It's important that we print those documents. I don't know why he sent them there, he could have sent them here, to his own computer, and print them at his apartment." He protested.

"Are you kidding, man? The first thing I've done is check that the computer isn't under CIA control. Danny would only send those files to a safe place, and nothing better than sending them to his own office."

…

**FBI Offices. Manhattan. March, 15. 2006**

Alex smiled amused, while dressed in a maintenance uniform and holding a tool box, he and Patrick went into the FBI building without being required any specific control.

At the twelfth floor, bad tempered people tried to make their computers work and the lights flashed, welcoming the technicians.

"Wow, did we do this?" Patrick muttered nervously. "Are you ready?" He asked Alex, as they walked through the corridors.

"Yes," he said, heading to what looked an information point. "Excuse me, we're here from the maintenance company…" he introduced himself as he flashed a plastic card. The agent looked at it and pointed toward the bullpen. "Start from there,"

Patrick and Alex crossed the glass door to the wide space full of desks, desperate agents, whiteboards, phones and computers.

Looking around, Alex looked for what Danny had indicated to him; his desk. He spotted the small plate with his name and walked directly toward it. "Excuse me, we're here from maintenance," he explained to the agent occupying the desk. He stood up, leaving Alex some space, who quickly cleaned the desk and put his tool box on the desk.

"Aren't you the computer technician?" The agent asked.

"No, I'm the electrician, Agent…" Alex leaned forward to read the plate, before continuing, "Taylor."

"Oh no, I'm Agent Robson," he said.

"Well, Agent Robson, I need to put the ladder here," Alex said looking up.

"What's going on?" Robson asked intrigued.

Alex put the ladder beside Danny's desk and went up. As he reached the top, he pulled out his flashlight and lit up the inside of the false ceiling. That camera shouldn't be working, but he wouldn't leave it there. Pressing with his fingers the metallic grid piece, behind the camera which had been hidden beside the lights, he tried to remove it carefully. He'd need some tools to cut the wire so he climbed down and returned with the wire cutters. Robson observed him, as Patrick had already begun working on some computers. At that moment, Alex saw an agent walking up to Patrick and asking for something. By the way Patrick shook his hand, Alex thought that he had contacted the responsible agent for the servers.

Letting him doing his job, Alex went up, and after cutting the wire, he removed the small camera.

"What's that?" Robson asked. Fortunately, he was the only one paying some attention to what Alex was doing.

"Nothing, but it's interfering with something…let me see…" Alex pretended to examine the wires of the computer as if he knew what he was doing, although he knew exactly what to look for. He only needed an excuse.

"Excuse me," he said opening the drawer of the desk. Pulling out the contents, he left everything on the desk. Then, he removed the box and left it on the floor. Pointing his flashlight inside the hole, he exclaimed "here you are!" and introducing his hand, he pretended to put something in its place. "Well," he said with a delighted look on his face as he took the box and put it back in its place. While he did it, he could reach the envelope that was taped behind the box and removed it. Nobody realized the movement he made, not even when he put the envelope in his tool box. He was trembling when he zipped up the bag, leaving everything at its place.

Patrick had disappeared with the computer technician and he was now in his work area, talking to him. Alex quickly left the bullpen and headed to the electricity system. Removing the wires he had used to cause the short-circuit, he activated the system and the lights turned correctly. He smiled with satisfaction. The second part of his job was easy.

Removing an envelope from his bag, he introduced the one he had removed from the box on his boss' desk and wrote the name Danny had told him: "Jack Malone." Taking off some parts of his maintenance uniform, Alex Córdoba went from being an electrician to a simple messenger. Coming back, he didn't stop to ask and he simply walked toward Agent Malone's office, a place he had identified before. Knocking on the door, he went into the office as soon as the agent raised his eyes. "Agent Malone?" he asked. As the other nodded, he gave him the envelope and a form, "You have to sign here." He said.

Jack looked at the envelope addressed to him and frowned as he signed the form. "Thanks Agent Malone. Agent Taylor sent his greetings to you," he said, and turning back, he left quickly, before the other man reacted.

Jack had stood up immediately with the envelope in his hand, but he couldn't see Alex, who had gone into the elevator which fortunately was opened on his way. The option of the stairs was the one he would have taken at first time but since the elevator was already there, it happened to be faster. He smiled thinking about the confused look of the man when he had spilled out the words Danny had made him learn, soon before leaving the house.

Opening the envelope, Jack found a handwritten letter, which he recognized immediately as Danny's handwriting and another closed envelope inside. The first thing he read in the letter was: 'Don't open it.' It had the tape still affixed on it, surely it was something important.

He continued reading the letter. It didn't say much more and at the time he didn't understand any of it. 'You're going to receive an envelope with documents you shouldn't open. The attached instructions are also for this one. Don't lose it; you take my safety with it. Danny.'

Jack sat down worried. The last part of the letter had taken his breath away and made him forget how to breathe. When he realized, Vivian was already standing in front of him, staring at him. He hadn't even noticed when she opened the door and talked to him about the latest information about the case they were investigating.

Now, she was looking at him worried. And she was also looking at that paper Jack had in his hands. Opening his drawer, Jack put it inside and closed the drawer. "It's… Maria," he said as the only explanation that came to his mind at the moment, after clearing his throat. Vivian knew about the bad moments of Jack's marriage, it would be easy to believe his behavior had something to do with it.

Patrick had made a few computers work again, when the computer technician for the FBI approached him. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It doesn't look too bad," Patrick started, paying attention to Sam Spade's computer. "But it'd be good to take a look to the servers," he continued. "I'm afraid this is a temporary solution."

"I'm Tom Richard, computer technician, come with me," the agent told him.

Patrick raised his sight and smiled as he shook his hand. "Patrick González."

Tom frowned, where had he heard that name before? Both men headed toward Tom's office. Patrick thought it would be a very good place to work for him, exactly what Danny had told him. Closing the door behind him, Patrick knew it was the moment to reveal the truth of what his work to do in the office was. "Is this the main sever?" he asked, when Tom pointed the computer to be checked.

"Yes, that's it, it's been a while since it's given me some problems," he added upset about not being able to work on a solution for it.

Patrick knew well how Tom was feeling. "Don't worry, you soon will understand what's going on," he said sitting down and typing in a code to access the insides of the computer. Only an expert was able to do what Patrick was doing and he felt the fear of Tom behind him.

"Well," he said after a moment. "This is okay." Patrick said. "Agent Richard, do you know agent Danny Taylor?"

"Yes, sure…" Tom began without understanding what Patrick meant. Taking the paper Patrick handed to him, he read it carefully. Then he looked back to Patrick. "I…I received a strange email several days ago…" he started, typing something on the computer.

"This is the email," Patrick agreed pointing to a specific email. "I need to decipher it and print five copies of its content, using numbered and consecutive sheets. It'll take some time. If you don't mind, you can say that I'm checking the servers."

"What's all this about?" Tom asked. If it wasn't because of the note Danny had written to him, he would have never let that guy do anything there.

"Well, I can't tell you too much. But Danny trusts you, he didn't think of any other better place to send these documents I have to retrieve now."

"I almost deleted it." Tom said.

"Don't worry. I would have gotten it back." Patrick said trying to focus on the keys he had to type. "Where's the printer?" He asked.

Tom pointed to the one from the control panel and a few seconds later, the detailed reports they had written in Washington started to show up even though not as fast as Patrick would like. After getting the first set of copies, he asked Tom for five envelopes to put the documents in. Thirty minutes later, the copies were carefully put into the envelope. That was the time to write the letters summoning Andrew Miller, Jack Malone and Laura Duke to an important meeting.

Tom observed the thorough work Patrick was doing, as he remembered where he had heard his name before. "You're the hacker everyone wants to catch, right?" he asked.

Patrick stopped for a second. "Not anymore."

"Sure," Tom laughed. "How did you get it? I mean, work for the government…"

"I'm still on it," Patrick said, as he finished writing the letter. He checked it quickly and pulled out from his bag a small folder with three signed and sealed with the CIA logo sheets. Putting them into the printer, he sent the letter to be printed. He observed with satisfaction the result. 'Alex, you're a genius' he thought. Getting out three envelopes from the folder, he put the letters into them, taking special attention in not mistaking the names in the letters and each envelope.

Tom looked at him confused. He didn't want to see what he was actually seeing. "Is this legal?"

Patrick thought about it. "Probably not. But necessary, yes."

"What is Taylor working on?" Tom asked.

"I don't know, exactly, but this thing you're witnessing is part of Agent Taylor's safety," he explained as seriously as he could. "You can't tell anybody else what you're seeing. If I'm doing this here, it's because Taylor trust you'll be discreet."

Of course Tom wouldn't have believed a word from Patrick if the paper he had read before, handwritten and signed by Danny, wouldn't have asked him to do so. The letter was personal enough to realize that Danny actually had written it.

"By the way, Danny asks you a favor, this is the serial number of an official gun, same model you use in the FBI. I don't understand a word of this, but he told me to ask you if you can investigate its records." Patrick wrote some numbers and letters he had memorized and handed it to Tom.

"And, what do I have to do when I find it?" he asked.

"Nothing, just keep it."

"For safety," Tom guessed.

"Exactly," Patrick agreed. Tom had understood.

Later that night, Alex and Patrick celebrated the success of their work during their first time going out in months. Their job had finished, the letters had been sent, the documents as well. What was going to happen next, wasn't their business but Danny and other people, and the chance they could have in the meeting they would have to attend.

….


	10. Chapter 10

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 10**

**Central Intelligence Agency**

**Langley, Virginia. March 20, 2006**

Inside his office, Robert Conrad worked on the details of an operation that would abruptly end in the following hours; at least the part that concerned him at the moment. The frantic activity that developed in the previous weeks had kept him active and focused on what they were going to do.

Now, in the apparent calm of his office, he carefully analysed other aspects of it. The way he was going to begin his new job as Area Director of the CIA, with the resolution of that operation, worried him. He had added the matter of the documents, despite the Director's disagreement, not only because of a symbolic reason. Robert Conrad understood it as a way of acknowledging the risky job the men he had selected to release Andrés Miranda, had done. The precautions Taylor had taken regarding those documents had made it easy to make that option, and Conrad decided to give him the opportunity to take part in an apprehension that wasn't difficult for him anymore, despite being his direct superior. That fact would add the further trust he needed from his new right-hand man. And that was essential.

While thinking of that, he didn't realize the door opened at the same time the Director of the CIA himself poked his head inside. "Moore and McAllister are already here," he announced. "What are you waiting for, Conrad?"

Neither of them, either General Moore or the Director of the FBI, John McAllister, knew any other different version than the one John Davis had told them. Conrad feared the effects of their reaction over Taylor; he was worried about the strength of the agent in front of these three very powerful men. He was waiting for Taylor, he would have liked to talk to him, given him some information, but it seemed it wouldn't be possible. For a second, the thought that maybe his decision was a terrible mistake, but feeling confident about what was going to happen in the following days, taking the reins as the new Area Director, he decided to trust the man that, until that moment, hadn't shown a single moment of weakness, even if ex-marine Díaz had complicated matters sometimes.

Standing up, he followed the Director of the CIA toward a nearby office, where two technicians were managing the sound and image. A few moments later, on a big screen, they could see the empty office of the Area Director of the CIA, John Davis.

Conrad looked at the time. 09:15. Fifteen minutes later, if Taylor were on time, an interview with an uncertain ending would begin. By the corner of his eye, he saw another man joining him, a man that had been the main reason for the operation. Beside Conrad, both exchanged a significant look. Would the young federal agent stand under the pressure? They said without words.

One hour earlier, in Columbia Heights, Danny Taylor checked for the last time the documents he would take with him, documents he had received by the usual messenger in a closed envelope he signed, crossing the fastener, beside the note of receiving. Joining the letters he had asked his team to write the first day and had made Jason so angry, carefully inside their closed envelopes, he thought about the determination to fight for what they had ask them, even if he didn't know the content.

Adjusting his tie, he picked up his things and took a last glance of that room. Finally, the day he would take his life back had arrived. Hearing Jason saying that the awaiting car had parked outside, he tried to calm his nerves and went downstairs.

"Let's go," he said to his partner.

The previous days, since Patrick and Alex had left the house, things had started with a big argument. Danny hadn't foreseen that Jason's contact was someone he'd only known for three months, and much less that she was his girlfriend. Jason had a hard time understanding that Laura's implication wasn't dangerous, but very important. But now that they left their captivity, now that the story reached its end, Jason couldn't help but admit that Danny had done a good job and, just like he had promised them, he had protected them during all the time.

"Nervous?" Jason asked, handing him a bottle of water and some pills.

Danny grimaced, before swallowing the pills, not even asking what they were for.

"Everything's going to be okay," Jason encouraged him. "You've done a hell of good job. If something went wrong, it was the support they should have given us once Miranda left. But that wasn't our business."

"No, it wasn't," Danny agreed trying to calm his nerves. He felt his mind heavy, he didn't know what he was going to find. He hadn't spoken to Robert Conrad and he didn't even know how the part of the story which information he had been given at the last moment before the operation started, was working out.

He startled at Jason's question, "What haven't you told me, Danny?"

"Nothing, it's not important," Danny replied.

"Are you sure?" he insisted.

"We'll see, Jason. It's not something we have control over. Listen, don't act like usual, please, I'm not going to start an argument with you, not now," Danny replied.

"Fine," Jason agreed in bad mood. Although Danny was right, it wasn't a good time for an argument.

The ride to Langley was quiet. Jason understood the nervousness of his partner based on the responsibility he had achieved, the compromise with them, especially with him. He realized that maybe he had asked for something that wasn't Danny's business, especially since he learned about Danny not being the CIA agent he had believed, but someone who had been recruited using the same methods they used with him.

Walking beside him, at the entrance of the CIA building, going through the controls, they reached the hall beside the office where the meeting would be taking place. It was then, when an agent stopped him. "Come with me, Agent Taylor," he said. "You can wait here," he told Jason pointing to the chairs in the hall.

Jason and Danny exchange a looked. The time had come. Shaking his hand, Jason gave him the bottle with the pills he had already given to him leaving the house. "Take one every hour, the next one in twenty minutes."

"Right," was the inaudible answer he got from Danny. "Take this," he added then, handing the documents to Jason. "If something goes wrong, give them to Robert Conrad, remember his name, he's my contact, alright?"

"What's this?" Jason asked.

"Our reports, and your petition letters," Danny said. "Tell me you're doing it."

"Everything is going to be okay, Danny," Jason tried to help noticing the sudden nervousness of his boss. "Alright," he added noticing the warning look. "I'll do it."

Jason sat down in front of the door that was opened just to see Danny going in. He couldn't see much, except the figures of three people inside.

…..

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the insistent allegations of the Area Director John Davis, FBI Director McAllister headed to the door and opening it, he left with a document in his hand, retained in his mind what for a while was disturbing his reason and now was finding an explanation.

He took a deep breath, trying to relieve the tension, while he noticed the group of people in the hall. Still pacing, revising the pages of that document, reading some paragraphs and then others, he shook his head and frowned, a chance turn of his sight toward the people at the hall, made him suddenly understand why they were there. Some of them had envelopes that if they were similar to the one the young soldier, with a crossed signature on the fastener, it meant only one thing. He couldn't help but to smile with satisfaction at the same time the unease and concern caught him. What was happening? Was this some sort of ploy?

He couldn't find an answer when General Moore joined him, the still furious expression on his face. "How dare you say they left him in the base and alive?" he whispered, noticing the other people in the hall.

It had been moments earlier when Jack Malone had startled at identifying the Director of the FBI, it was the turn for Lieutenant Colonel Miller to feel the same as he recognized General Moore, who he didn't know personally but knew about the important rank he had in Guantánamo. Noticing that Alex didn't know him, he put him in the story about that General.

"What is he insinuating? That we killed him?" Moore continued, confronting McAllister.

"Relax, Albert. Look at this," he said showing two paragraphs from the document, separated by several pages of content. "I've been reading this knowing that something wasn't right and this is it."

The General read the two paragraphs and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Take a look at the writing, the style, it's…different. It seems the first part and the second part of the document was written by different people. And…look around at these people here."

Both men looked at the people in that hall, and all of them remained silent. Patrick swallowed hard, noticing the clear gesture. Jack frowned, that was really weird and Jason shook his head cursing his partner for not telling him clearly what was going on. He looked at the time. Three hours had passed since Danny had disappeared in that room. None of them had moved. After him, Patrick had arrived, and then Alex dressed in his military suit joined by a Lieutenant Colonel, his contact Jason guessed, and finally, Laura. He cursed silently when he noticed the fear in the woman's face, who didn't understand why she was there. But she was, and she had that envelope. He sighed in relief as he approached her and patiently listened to her complaints. She was right, completely, after three months he had said goodbye with an ambiguous excuse about a mission and she hadn't had news from him until eight months later. However, she was there.

The last man was unknown to him, but Patrick and Alex told him who he was. Jack Malone, Danny's supervisor, probably his contact. He took two envelopes with him. Remembering the ones Danny had given to him, he wondered if he should give them to Robert Conrad or not.

Now, nervous as hell, he observed the men that had been interviewing Danny, leaving the room, whispering, reading some papers and now pointing at them. But neither man approached them.

"Who gave you this document?" Moore asked agreeing with the conclusion the Director of the FBI had shared with him.

"Davis gave it to me early this morning before starting the meeting. And you?" McAllister asked, already knowing the answer.

Both had completely different expressions now and went back to the room where Davis was still arguing with Danny the conclusions of that document.

Nobody could tell Danny that he shouldn't have tried for a long the time, but after three hours of tedious interview, as they discussed the details of locations and liberation of Andrés Miranda, the news that the spy whose liberation had cost so much sacrifice not only to him but also his three colleagues, had been murdered, broke the calm he had held until that moment. That was not only unexpected news but also devastating because it made useless all the work they had done. Then, he understood why those three men insisted so much in getting the names and people he could think was involved. Luis Garcia and Clara Torres were the people more evident, but as he told them, less active. Someone else would be over them or big coincidence was what they did to him the previous day before his liberation, something he didn't even know, so the transistor was disconnected since Miranda had left. But he couldn't say anything else.

It was then, that the CIA Director and Robert Conrad exchanged a look. "I think we can go in," the man beside them commented.

"No, not yet. I'm going to let him hang him on the ropes. I owe him," Conrad objected.

"It's unnecessary what you're making him deal with. He's not one of us," the other insisted concerned, even though his worry nothing had to do with the pressure against that FBI agent.

"No, he's not, but he has dealt with worse situations and you know that," Conrad reminded. "Besides, we're close."

Sighing, his colleague could only accept the situation. Robert Conrad was in fact, the new Area Director, and probably his direct boss from that moment on.

"Director Davis, how did you receive the documents you've given us this morning?" General Moore asked even before closing the door. Outside, everyone heard the question. Jason wondered if the General had done that on purpose.

"They were extracted directly from the computers we placed in the house, where, in order to keep them safe, they have been living since their arrival until today," Davis explained. "Computers and cell phones were connected directly to the Agency so that's why, when Agent Taylor finished his job, we recovered the documents from here."

"Is that true, Agent Taylor?" McAllister asked.

"That was the idea, Sir. But as I said before, this isn't the final report that I wrote. I don't see the individual reports I asked each of the rest of my team to write, just to collect the most detailed possible information, so you know, the group was divided; two people inside, two people outside. I don't think I should bother you in explaining how things went on, again, so it's evident you don't have the less intention to listen," Danny said in tense but calmed tone. His stomach was starting to protest once again and even if he didn't want to, he couldn't help but take another pill from the bottle Jason had given him. He had lost count of how many he had eaten. "I've explained you that the first part of the operation is written exactly the way it happened, until my colleagues Alex Córdoba and Patrick González, left Andrés Miranda safe and sound in Guantánamo Base. The difficulties we developed during the second part of the plan that would take not more than ten days, aren't the ones shown in that report. It's not what we wrote in those computers."

"Do you have proof of what you're saying?" McAllister asked then, offering his agent the opportunity nobody had given him until now.

"What does he have to prove?" Davis almost yelled, suddenly nervous.

"Let Agent Taylor answer the question," Moore cut him off.

"Of course, I can, Sir. Once we finished the reports, I asked Patrick González to encode the content and send it to a safe email I gave him." Danny replied.

"Good," Robert Conrad muttered, one floor up, as he smiled pleased.

The agent beside him, shifted nervously, while his mind worked fast but couldn't find any reason to justify his nervousness at the moment.

Davis had turned pale.

"If you want to check it, the data transmission should be registered, if not here, in the servers of the FBI offices in New York, in the Missing Persons offices to be exact. It was there, where I sent Patrick with a note headed to the computer responsible and they deciphered the content of the reports. It's easy to check that they haven't been manipulated, Sir."

"That's not possible," Davis objected. "You never left that house from the very moment you came back. That's a lie Agent Taylor, once again."

"That is very interesting," the FBI Director said, ignoring Davis' words and speaking directly to Danny. "Why did you do that? And, where are those documents that, according to you, Agent Taylor, are the one originally written by you and your team?"

The CIA Director shook his head, knowing that he would be the one having to arrest Davis and it was only a matter of minutes before that happened.

"I did it because I'm aware that none of us were prepared to take on a mission like this. Because I guessed the reasons for our recruitment, because I was never sure that Miranda or we would ever be back alive, especially after receiving information from my contact, exactly the day before the mission started, when nobody could stop it," Danny explained. "I ordered five copies of our reports, in labelled paper from the FBI and numbered consecutively. They were sent with a custody order and a citation to come to these offices today sent to three people. Agent Conrad and I have the other copies."

Davis raised an eyebrow. "Where's yours?"

"I gave it to my colleague Jason Díaz, who came with me this morning to this office."

Danny was sure that, at least, Jason and Conrad would have their copies and they were there. He couldn't know where the rest were.

"Why have you done this, Davis?" Moore asked. "What really happened to Miranda? And, where is his body?" They were questions he didn't even think of, but it was very interesting to ask in that moment. Those were questions without answers because at that moment a side door was opened to give entry to the CIA Director and Robert Conrad.

"You're going to get all the answers to your questions from Agent Conrad, in a moment, General Moore," the CIA Director said. "John Davis, you're under arrest for conspiracy, drug trafficking, smuggling, espionage…and falsifying documents," he said, as an agent put handcuffs on him.

Davis started protesting but the CIA Director interrupted him, ordering his agents. "Read him his rights, and get him out of here."

He waited a moment until the agents took Davis and looked at McAllister and Moore. "I understand I owe you an explanation."


	11. Chapter 11

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 11**

"Conspiracy, smuggling, espionage, what were you talking about?" General Moore asked in surprise.

"You can talk to him later and resolve your doubts, if you wish. And calm down, General Moore, Agent Miranda wasn't murdered inside Guantánamo. That was what we made John Davis believe, but actually, as we had planned, he was extracted from the island and he has given us precious information, apart from the suspicions we had of Davis."

"When did you begin to suspect him?" McAllister asked.

"When he ordered me to plan a mission without time to prepare for it," Conrad explained. "Not in the beginning, even if the specific profiles he asked me to look for, spoke aloud about the trust on that operation, so not much."

"I remember," Moore said while McAllister nodded. "Yet he sent four men to a sure death."

"Andrés Miranda informed us, that once he learned who was leading the smuggling operations he had been a part of for two years, he decided to stop. Threatening to talk, he made a trap for Davis, making him believe that incarcerated, his life would end. Unable to control him, Davis pressured to get him out. It was when he asked me to begin this operation, to look for some specific people and in a very short time, we prepared a plan that, as Taylor told me then, couldn't be another one but that."

"Why?" McAllister asked.

"It was prepared in three days. And I had even less time to look for the rest of the team, train them and send them to the island. The plan made by Agent Taylor was perfect and Miranda came back to the United States, but we made Davis believe the opposite. Then, he withdrew all of the support the team we had sent, had received till that moment. Once Miranda was dead, his intention was that they would never come back. Just a failed operation taken on by inexperienced people, completely justified to keep the infiltrated groups in the ignorance, which, by the way, and that's true, we didn't know who they were."

"And…you didn't do anything?" General Moore asked.

"We didn't want the traitors to suspect anything. Agent Taylor knew the risk he was taking because I, personally, told him," Robert Conrad clarified.

"Yeah, the day before the mission began, when there was no turning back," Moore objected. "Did you really know anything about this, Taylor?"

"Something…I suspected, Sir," Danny replied carefully choosing his words. He was still in shock at the cold way Conrad had explained Davis' plan for them.

"But Sirs, this isn't over yet," Conrad continued. "At this moment, everything is ready, to make arrests here and on the island. The DEA is already working on it, as well as the agents we can count on, on the island."

"Then, what has all this been?" General Moore asked. "Why have you made me waste my time coming here to listen to lies and stupidities?"

"It was necessary that Davis had no idea about what was happening and nothing better than keep you unaware," the CIA Director explained as McAllister nodded.

"It was also because I wanted to give Agent Taylor the opportunity of putting Davis on the ropes with the matter of the reports that, actually, aren't the ones Davis gave you this morning," Conrad said. "Excuse me one moment," he continued opening the door to the hall.

"Please, can you give me the envelopes you've been asked to bring here?" He asked. "Thanks…what's this?" He asked when Jason gave him the small envelopes with their petitions.

"We were asked to write what we wanted to do with our lives once you let us go. None of us, I know, was really prepared for a mission with more gaps than the Great Lakes…"

"I can't agree, Mr. Diaz," Conrad couldn't help but smile at the comparison. "You've worked this mission perfectly and it has ended the best way for our country. Anyway, we'll let you go."

"That's what you say. But it's not what's written here. Not by me, of course." Jason disagreed.

"Yeah, you're always arguing in the most opportune moments," Conrad replied, "I'll see what I can do."

"Boss said he'd fight for it," Patrick remarked.

"Of course," Conrad agreed.

Collecting the two envelopes Jack gave him, he quickly opened the small envelope that still had the tape that had kept it held to the Danny's drawer for all those months and read it quickly. "Good," he said and smiled. "Thanks so much to all of you, you've spent so much time here, so you can go if you'd like. You have everything you were required so the Central Intelligence Agency thanks you." He said.

"That's all?" Jack asked.

Conrad frowned. "It's what you were asked to do, Agent Malone." He replied and before Jack could say anything else, Conrad went into the room again. Robert Conrad didn't have time for that man at that moment. Other matters concerned him more than that surprised group of people.

"I'll explain it to you," Patrick said, sitting down beside Jack. "Look, if there's something that my boss and I agree about, is to distrust everyone, especially if they are backed by strange initials, CIA, DEA, FBI, NSA, UFO…Okay, so he planned all of this, as a security measure that, by the way, looks to be working out. If it hadn't, we wouldn't have stayed here for so long. On paper, this meeting was simply bureaucracy, just a palm on the back and some petitions to attend, pretty simple petitions I can say…"

"Do I know you?" Jack cut him off, without helping but smile that the list of governmental initials included UFO.

"I was in your office. We were in your office, my colleague Alex Cordoba and I. Fixing computers, deciphering documents and printing them. This document you brought is one of the five copies my boss sent to your office's servers, ciphered, of course."

Jack looked at him incredulous.

"Before we left the house we've been living in for the last several weeks, Taylor told me about the intentions of the Area Director of the CIA and the suspicious about him. He made a complete plan, not only for the mission they had ordered, but also to get out alive from there, knowing it would be anything but easy. He assumed all of the responsibility, he didn't tell us anything. Do you understand what I mean?"

Jack nodded as the outrage he felt ran through his veins.

"Danny Taylor not only managed to take Miranda out of the island, he also protected us and saved our lives, against the plans of the CIA, it looks like. The reports you have brought and the small letter my colleague took from the back of his desk' drawer, contain the proof of what he did, the way the months we stayed there passed and the way he has managed the situation this entire time. However…" Patrick stopped unsure of telling him anything else.

"I'm going to kill him," Jack muttered. "Could he have known what was going on when he told him he was leaving?'

"He's going to need all your support, Agent Malone. I know my boss trusts you with his life, the same way that I trust him my own life. But your agent has dealt with a pressure since the very first moment and he's not going to be able to do it anymore, especially the moment this is over. I know him because living with him these last two weeks with nothing to do but playing basketball and watching TV, make you observe the people around you. Taylor and I agree about some things apart from distrusting initials…I was kidding, just to get your attention. It's an intangible matter if you want, we're actually well different, but what joins us is…definitive. I won't be able to help him, I also have my story, sure, but you…you can. Take care of him."

"Are you worried about him?" Jack asked, although it was more of a confirmation.

"Don't move from here until he comes out of that room. After four hours of interrogation, not even I know what we're going to find," Patrick told him.

Far from looking rude, Robert Conrad's worries were all about Danny Taylor. He had observed the way his Director, once Davis was arrested and the situation explained to McAllister and Moore, had closed a camaraderie circle between the three men, a place neither Conrad nor Taylor had a room. And yet he didn't care, but after what Taylor had been through he wasn't going to leave him alone a single moment.

He went into that room again and put the five envelopes on the desk, including the one with the initial part of the plan. "Here you have all the information, the five copies of the reports and the original plan which I have another copy of."

McAllister took the envelope Conrad had opened moments earlier and read it quickly. Nodding, however, he turned to the CIA Director. "I don't have time to read all of this. If you have Miranda, I'd like to talk to him. You know I have questions he surely will answer. Have you enjoyed making this farce? You've made me waste time I don't have, just so you could put order in your own home. Gentlemen, have a good day."

The three men left talking, while Conrad and Danny stayed alone in the room.

"It's not fair." Conrad said.

"No, it isn't. I agree with Director McAllister. Robert, I'm responsible of three people. What am I going to tell them? What am I going to explain them what all this has been for, that there's a good reason for their sacrifice, for risking their lives the way they did, for leaving their families, jobs, friends, apart and joining this senseless mission? Has it been worth it?" Danny asked standing up and confronting Conrad.

Conrad was surprised. He still had the energy, or maybe it was the outrage that Danny felt.

"You know it has, Taylor. You helped Miranda get out of there unnoticed and that mission was always the priority."

"But it wasn't a priority doing it the way it was done," Danny argued.

"I didn't know then, nobody knew Miranda's real condition. At first, because I was following orders from Davis, later because the interest he had on Miranda, made him important. Danny, what happened then …"

"What then happened was that you abandoned us, knowing what Davis pretended. What would have happened if something had gone wrong? What would have happened if I couldn't protect Jason? Or what do you have to say about Clara Torres? They could have found out Jason and Alex's intentions, they didn't have any experience, in fact, I'm sure they were unmasked. I didn't receive the beating I got the day before I left the prison, by coincidence. You know that she told Luis García. You have all that information from Miranda and you didn't do anything. We could have died there and you would have done nothing. With Miranda telling you all the necessary information, you didn't need anything else to arrest Davis. You didn't need anything else and abandoned us. Tell me what's the difference between Davis and you? You didn't need this. And don't you dare say again you wanted me to have an opportunity for anything."

Both men remained silent. Conrad was speechless. Conrad could tell Danny he was wrong about some things, but he couldn't do it. He knew that Miranda was following all his moves attentively.

"Say something!" Danny yelled. A yell that could be heard from outside and caused some worried looks.

"I'm sorry, you're right. Well, the less I can do is take care of your petitions," Conrad finally said. "Taylor, I can't do anything else. I was obeying orders and then everything went wrong. I know what you think from your point of view, it's normal, but from here we were working a very complicated situation. We haven't been able to make a single arrest until the moment we arrested Davis. Nobody, absolutely nobody knew that Miranda was alive, except a few and necessary people. It hasn't been easy."

"All right, let's talk about our petitions, then," Danny cut him off. "Is that what you're worried about? Well, I'll make it easy for you, to sum it up, we get our lives back and you remove our names from that database you have some place. We might not have family but very loyal friends we have a few, I don't think I have to show you."

"Danny, I'm your friend."

"No, you're not. Don't pretend to be the loyal colleague, Conrad. I've worked with you and done everything you asked, but I never agreed to this. You forced me to accept, I remember well how that conversation was and I know that you'd had me under surveillance since God knows how long. No, you aren't my friend."

"All right, if that's how you feel," It wasn't what Conrad was expecting but it was true what Taylor said. He couldn't deny it, he had pressured Danny, used him and he almost lost him, especially him. He thought to himself that maybe he still could lose him, seeing Danny taking another pill and putting it in his mouth. He didn't dare to ask.

"I've got the original documents and the plan you created. That'll be enough." He said. "Well, let's see this," he added taking an envelope and opening it.

Effectively, as Danny had told him, their only request was to take their former lives back. Minor changes in Patrick González job, who asked to join the FBI in the same place his boss worked and a definitive place for Alex Cordoba in the explosives unit. Reading Jason Díaz's request made him frown. "Do you know about this?" he asked Danny.

"No, I haven't read them." He replied.

"Jason Díaz. He asking for some medical equipment for his pediatric unit in Orlando and he also wants an investigation to be opened to look into the death of his wife and daughter eight years ago."

"Yes I know, he was in Germany, in a NATO base when, apparently, a fire in his home killed his wife and daughter. It was ruled as accidental but he always thought it was something else. I don't know. I don't have information about that case but if he asks…" Danny stated.

"Do you know what he's implying? They would have to exhume the bodies…" Conrad began.

Danny stared at him. "That's his petition; you don't even have to work that investigation, the FBI will, so I don't see the problem."

"All right," Conrad sighed. "What about you? Now, you've got another rank, you could even get a position superior to what Malone has."

"I don't need a new position. I just want to return to the place you took me out of. I'm not interested in anything else."

"Come on, Taylor, it's a good opportunity. You can be a supervisor wherever you want, don't miss this opportunity."

Danny shook his head. "I've already told what I want. If someone has taken my place, that's your problem but my petition is clear and easy."

"You could lead the investigation into Diaz's wife and daughter," Conrad tried.

"That's the last thing I'd do. Even if we have our arguments, Jason is still my friend. I won't do it. I've told you what I want and you won't make me change my position, so don't insist."

"All right. I'll prepare the documents and I'll call you to sign them." Conrad offered a hand that Danny almost didn't accept.

Robert Conrad opened the door and let Danny exit the room. Feeling he didn't have anything to do there, he closed the door and left the room using the side door. They had won but for some reason he didn't feel like he'd won. Instead, for some reason, he felt ashamed.

…

Jack felt a knot in his throat as soon as he saw Danny. Approaching him quickly, he coincided in the gesture with Jason, although the reasons were different and he ignored it. "Don't argue with me," Jason ordered so firmly that Danny wasn't able to say a word. Everything around him was spinning and he almost fell down, if Jason hadn't have hold him firmly. "We've done it," he whispered. "You're going to have your investigation, Jason. And the medical equipment for your pediatric unit."

Jason grimaced. "I don't think that's important at this moment, Danny. Let's get out of here. Let's go, we have to get you to the hospital…and don't protest."

"What is happening to him? Danny, what's going on?" Jack asked, holding Danny by the other arm, as they left the building.

"I don't know, but he received a brutal beating and I haven't been able to stabilize him. I asked over and over that he needed to be taken out of the house to a hospital but they never took care of it." Jason explained.

Jack looked at him in surprise. "What?" he exclaimed at the same time Danny did.

Jason looked at Danny for a second. "You gave the paper to the messenger…didn't you read it?"

Jack waited for an answer Jason didn't say in front of Danny. "Danny, you listen to me, I told you to be careful."

Danny couldn't elaborate an answer; the snake inhabiting his stomach was waking up again. Jason checked the bottle of pills almost empty and shook his head. "How many did you take?"

"I'm not sure," Danny muttered with a pained gesture.

…

"Well, and what do we do now?" Patrick asked, once they left Danny being attended by the doctors at the hospital.

"I'm hungry," Alex stated.

"I think Patrick means where are we going to stay?" Jason clarified. "And the fact we don't have anything else but our clothes. And the CIA won't have the courtesy they had when they took us to New York."

The three of them looked at Jack, Miller and Laura Duke, as if they had the key to a solution.

"I…I didn't know what all this was about so I booked a room in a hotel," Laura said.

"Yes, me too," Jack added. "I can share it with one of you."

"You can come with me Alex," Miller said.

"Jason? Patrick?"

"Jason will stay with Miss Duke, won't he?" Patrick said as the woman blushed. "So, Agent Malone, I'll be glad to share a room with you…separate beds, right?"

The situation made them laugh and with it released the great deal of tension they all felt.

"All right, so problem fixed. What about my petition? Do you know what time it is?" Patrick protested.

"I invite," Miller replied.

"No way," Jack protested, "We'll invite."


	12. Chapter 12

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 12**

"I don't know what happened, Agent Malone," Jason said.

"Call me Jack, please."

It was close to eight in the evening and they both had gone to the hospital to know about Danny. Jack wanted to see him, even if it was only for a moment. Jack was asking Jason Díaz about the mission and the meaning of all of it.

"During the entire time I was very judgmental with Diego, sorry, with Danny, because I thought he was part of the CIA, who knew exactly the entire scheme and there were things I didn't like. From the beginning."

"Who's Diego?" Jack asked.

"Danny. From the moment we met, he talked to us in Spanish and gave us fake names, so we never knew our real names. He was Diego and we believed he only spoke Spanish. He did well, we didn't have more than a month to prepare and it helped us to talk to each other that way from the first moment. Then, later in the house in Washington, he explained why he did that. He never said a word, Agent Malone, and I'm convinced he did the best he could and knew. The mission to liberate Miranda, being aware that nobody should know except three or four people apart from us, was complicated but well planned. But then, Danny and I stayed in that prison and that…that was a hell of a time, especially for him."

"I understand. How long did you stay there?"

"We stayed about six or seven months, with no connection with the outside. Not knowing when or if we could be freed and not knowing if Patrick and Alex would be able to deal with that mission. But they did it, even though they endured so many difficulties. I'm convinced that Danny knew about the possibility of not having backup. But I'm convinced they used us, the entire time. Seeing him taking on that responsibility and the way the pain consumed him while there wasn't anything that I could do to help him, seeing what they have done to all of us, with him until the last minute and the way they let us go…"

"Mr. Díaz? Jason Díaz?" The man asked approaching them, a familiar face to Jason but he couldn't recognize from where.

But the man approached him and offered his hand. "Andrés Miranda, I think we met…in other conditions, didn't we?"

Jason shook his hand but didn't smile like the other. Jack understood why.

"What are you doing here?" Jason asked abruptly.

"I've come to ask about your boss, and also to see if I was lucky enough to meet you or one of the other members of your team. I see that I was."

"I don't understand what interest you can have in him, exactly."

"If it wouldn't have been for what he did, I'd never have left that prison." Miranda said in surprise.

"I'm not sure about that," Jason objected. "You and I, and probably Luis García and his guys, know where a fake beating can go, am I right?"

"I understand, maybe we should have a conversation in private …"

"This is the only privacy I'm going to concede to you. If Mr. Malone is not of your liking, then you can leave the same way you came in, Agent Miranda. I don't have anything to say to you."

"Alright, it was planned, yes. My intention was to leave the country and inform the CIA Director what was happening with Area Director, John Davis. I had to do it fast because some of my colleagues were beginning to have suspicions about me. But I didn't expect them to send you."

"How did you make a deal with Luis García?" Jason asked.

"His cousin, Clara Torres, was involved. Your boss had that information; he asked for a report about her as soon as he arrived to Guantánamo."

"No, he didn't know then." Jason replied.

"She wanted to leave the island with me. We had…a relationship. She talked to her cousin and then spread the word that I had been incarcerated and my life was at risk."

"All lies. Didn't you think to do the same thing with my boss?"

"I've already told you that I didn't know who they were sending. I believed he was a CIA agent and he was so sure about what he was doing. He asked me to introduce him to the people who were beating me and I warned him what that meant. I couldn't tell anything to Garcia, he believed I was his cousin's boyfriend, one of them."

Jason shook his head, understanding what Miranda was saying. "He did it to protect you, so you wouldn't receive anymore beatings and I could take care of you, so you could leave the prison healthy enough. If you had told him that your life wasn't in danger, he would never have taken your place."

"I didn't know what he was planning, he didn't tell me. The matter is," Miranda continued before Jason could argue again, "I wanted to talk to some of you about what happened this morning. I want to apologize because maybe I didn't pressure my boss enough to end the interrogation earlier."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked then.

"The interrogation Taylor had to deal with, telling him that I was dead and questioning all of his reports and the work he had done, was in my opinion, excessive. I don't think it was necessary; they had enough to arrest Davis with the information I gave them. But Robert Conrad told us that he wanted to let him defend himself and put Davis in evidence, because he knew about the original copies of those reports, something Taylor did on his own. And it's a good thing he did."

"Let me get this straight," Jason reddened in anger. Jack put a hand on his arm, understanding his anger, but an argument in the hospital corridor wouldn't help. "No, Jack," Jason refused the contact. "You don't know what we went through in that prison, what Taylor went through. And this guy is telling me that it could have been avoided. With his statement, they could have arrested the corrupted people and they could have taken us out earlier and without risking our lives that way. Why didn't you do that?"

"If we had done that, your lives would have been more at risk than what they were, from the moment they related you with me."

"That wouldn't have happened. The plan Taylor made, included a total disconnection with your liberation. We would have left in that van from the laundry, if we'd had the chance, but we already knew it wasn't possible. One person could escape, but two or three, it was impossible. And the orders were clear: take you out unnoticed. But once you were outside, not being related to anything, I don't see the reason not to arrest the people and get us out of there."

"I don't know, honestly. Maybe it was a mistake or maybe Conrad feels responsible for sending you there. I suppose that, seeing the opportunity, he pretended to put Davis in evidence, also for that matter. Now he can be accused of attempted premeditated murder and…"

"What do I care? What if any of us would have died? And pray, if you believe in something, for Taylor to survive this, because I don't see things so clearly. And if Conrad is so regretful, why doesn't he come face us himself?"

"Is…is there any way you would accept my apologies? I think I've started telling you I didn't agree with…"

"Go to hell," Jason cut him off.

Miranda stared at him, attempting to say something else.

"Go," Jason demanded. "Don't you dare visit my boss. I'll personally make sure that you don't step a foot anywhere near him."

"All right, I can't say that I didn't try."

This time, Jack held Jason in time, who almost jumped on Miranda. "Let it go, he's not worth it," he said, controlling his own reaction.

….

Going into the room where Danny rested, Jack regretted not breaking Miranda's nose minutes earlier, as he noticed his agent's fragile figure.

Taking a seat, Jack sat down beside him, and pressuring his arm, he got Danny's attention.

"Jack," he said blinking.

"Hey, how do you feel?" Jack asked.

"I'm tired, basically, but fine. I'm not in pain and that's new. I suppose I wouldn't pass a drug test," Danny replied.

Jack smiled. "I see your humor sense is still intact. Listen, they won't let me stay long and I have to go back to New York, but I want you to know something."

"I haven't changed, Jack." He said.

"Let me decide that," his boss warned. "Danny, I've been told some things, by your colleagues; about the way you've been working during this entire situation, the opinion they have of you. It's been a long time since I'd felt so proud of someone, of someone like you, who I consider a friend. You've done an amazing job."

"It's not a big deal," Danny said. "I…wasn't prepared for what they asked me to do Jack, so I think that…"

"Yes, it's true you weren't prepared, but still and because of it, you did a great job. You don't have to think anything else."

Danny shook his head. "I should have said no since the beginning. I've taken on a responsibility I wasn't prepared for and I could have put at risk the lives of other people."

"That's not their opinion, Danny; at all. You told me yourself that they didn't give you an option. I know how they work, how they pressure and recruit, how they make their target make a decision convinced that they can't do anything else. That's not the first time it happens, and they did the same thing with your colleagues. I think you know that."

"Yes, Jack, sure I know but…"

"There are no buts. Besides, you've got for them what they had asked for."

"It looks like that. Jack, I don't know what they know, but during that interview this morning, I learned there that everything had been staged. I felt simply used, I put at risk my life and my colleagues' lives, I worked on plans that…I think were never taken seriously."

"You're wrong Danny. A moment ago, I listened to your friend Jason Díaz explain some things about that mission, a plan well developed by you the only way it could have been done, in the circumstances you were forced to deal with. And you did very well. Those plans you devised were the right ones in that moment, with the information you had and the conditions they ordered you, Danny. If you would have failed, you wouldn't be able to distinguish whether or not you were being used, you wouldn't have taken Miranda out of the island, they would still have a serious problem with security and nobody would know anything about you. Do you understand me?"

Danny nodded. "Sorry," he muttered as he wiped the tears that flowed from his eyes.

"Don't be sorry," Jack squeezed his arm affectionately and looked at the time, as someone gestured to him to leave the room. "Listen, I have to leave, but I want you to do me several favors."

"What do you want?"

"Remember what I've told you and never doubt it, regardless of what anybody tells you. Tell me that you'll do it."

"Sure, okay. I'll do it," Danny replied, not very convinced.

"I'm going back to New York and I'll be back at the end of the week. If I can, I'll take you home. Take care and do whatever the doctors order you to do. You aren't nobody's boss anymore, you don't have any other responsibility but over yourself. And you don't need to prove anything to anybody. You'll be okay, but you have to work on it."

"Are you arguing with me?" Danny frowned.

"Yes. I'm taking Patrick with me. Tom will be glad to have someone so skilled around him."

"Are you going to let him skip the twenty-two weeks in Quantico?" Danny asked smiling.

"Don't you think that what he's done has been enough?" Jack asked. "Listen, I'm leaving or they're going to take me out of here using a straightjacket. Take care and I don't want to hear you're doing something you don't have to. And think about what I've told you."

Danny closed his eyes, as he shook his head, but raised his thumb.

….

**Langley, Virginia. March 31, 2006**

It wasn't a week, just a few days more, since Danny had to attend a new meeting in Langley, to sign the conclusions and the agreement about the petitions the group had asked for.

The meeting with Robert Conrad, the new Area Director of the CIA, had nothing to do with the previous meetings they'd had. Danny accepted his apology but he only talked about the matter that had brought him there again. The petitions his colleagues and he had written weren't signed yet and he didn't want to let that go, not because his ambitions were excessive but just to fulfill the promises that he'd made to his team.

Only when he was out of the building, could he breathe freely. Glad to see Jack there, waiting for him, he realized that now his former life was back, even if now, he could take a job anywhere that he wanted, where and when he wanted it.

"How was it?" Jack asked.

"Let's go out of here, Jack," Danny replied upset. "I don't…I don't want to talk about this now."

"All right. Where are your things?" He asked.

"What things? There's nothing of mine here, I only want to go back home, Jack."

"Yes, but it's a long way, are you okay? Listen, you don't need to leave today, we can stay a couple of days and…"

Danny laughed. "Are we going to do a tour of Washington? You and me? No, no…I'm fine. It's just…it's a strange feeling, that's all."

"Do you remember what I told you when you were in the hospital?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, sure, I remember, and I'm grateful for the encouraging words. Robert Conrad apologized before, like he could fix something."

"Did you accept his apology?"

"Of course, I listened to him, accepted his apology, signed the damn papers and left. I just wanted to leave, but if I would've had enough strength, I think I would have punched him. I didn't do it, though."

"Yes, I understand," He was going to add something but he didn't want to.

However, Danny noticed it. "What's going on, Jack?"

"It's nothing, it's…the other day I went to visit you in the hospital, your friend Jason met another guy, the spy you liberated, and he confronted him."

"Sure, Jason. He's a hell of a personality," Danny said.

"Did you have problems with him?"

"No, yes, well not really. He was completely right; especially when he believed I was a CIA agent and made me responsible for his situation. But he saved my life, took care of me without any help and if I reached that meeting alive, it was thanks to him."

"He's a doctor, isn't he?" Jack asked.

"Yes, he's a pediatrician. He works in a clinic in Orlando. But he also was a marine and had experience with the soldiers arriving at a base he worked in, in Germany."

"How did you find him? Did you know him from before?"

"No, I didn't…I just asked for some profiles, a doctor, an expert in explosives, in computers and a good forger, but I didn't recruit them. Conrad did, or the military…I'm not sure."

…


	13. Chapter 13

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 13**

**FBI headquarters, New York. April, 5. 2006**

Patrick González remained thoughtful as he continued sitting down behind one of the servers in the computer room, where he had been working for ten days. Tom was glad about having such good colleague and not only that. As soon as he saw him and showed him information that Patrick took in consideration, taking a relieved breath. The serial number of the gun Danny had told him about didn't appear in any report or database to have been used, less committing any crime. It was clean.

But now, knowing that Danny would be back at work soon, Patrick had been working on something by himself, apart from what Jack had asked him to do. The first he did was a complete search of his boss' desk, removing his computer and installing a new one. However, making it work out the way he wanted was complicated. He didn't want to connect it like the others; he intended to control it from his own server, where any problem would be detected by him. He wasn't a trusting person, and that mistrust had made him think about that serial number again. It made him think about all the security measures that had resulted definitive for their safety and made him doubtful of the information Tom had gotten.

So, he had taken some liberties and, once again, had used his skills as a hacker to get into several CIA archives. He didn't care if he was discovered now, but still, he was especially careful.

Now, he had information to show his boss, and he couldn't help but think about it all the time.

Seeing Danny Taylor going into the bullpen with his boss Jack Malone and seeing the way his colleagues hugged him, was a good thing to witness, once the first impression passed. He was used to seeing him like that, thin and weak at the point, that seeing him walking by himself, dressed in his new dark suit and smiling at the welcome, made him appear even more healthier than he was when he was taken to the hospital.

He had let several days pass until the situation in the office returned to normal, although he noticed that his colleagues were worried about him. He had heard Vivian talking to Jack about how she'd tried to talk to him the night before when she went with him back home. Danny didn't say a single word about what had happened and it didn't look to be a good thing.

But he didn't talk about the matter, either. He only thought. And remembered. How would Alex or Jason be doing? A shiver ran down his spine as he placed his hand on the brown folder resting on his desk, speechless, expectant. Maybe Danny had taken some security measures for it as well, he wanted to calm down, but he didn't remember having seen that gun in his hands anymore, not in Langley, not in the Hospital. And Jason didn't have it, either.

In the midmorning, he decided he wasn't able to wait anymore and leaving his work area, he headed to Danny's desk where he was working with his colleagues.

"Boss, there's something you should see," he said handing him the folder. His serious expression and the way he told him, surprised the other three, who couldn't help but paying attention to the scene.

"What is it?" Danny asked, opening it.

"It's the information about the gun in the Washington house. It was used in a shooting, in Miami, four months ago. Two DEA agents died during the confrontation, and one of them received a gunshot from that gun," Patrick explained, while Danny read the report containing some other details.

"Is it registered?" he asked.

"Yes, it's registered to a DEA agent," Patrick said. Danny looked at him confused. "His name's Carlos Torres," Patrick added.

"What? Carlos Torres is a DEA agent?" Danny asked in surprise.

"Yeah, but I guess he's as corrupted as the others. The matter is, boss, nothing about this is in the official reports. I've had to do my job to get it. Does it ring any bells for you?" Patrick asked.

Danny nodded, while he continued reading the report. "Well, I have to…I have to call to Alex," he concluded.

"Alex?" Patrick asked confused.

"He has the gun; I gave it to him when you left the house. I hope he still has it because he'll have to remove the fingerprints."

"He better destroy it, it's safer," Patrick agreed.

Both men exchanged a nervous look. The tension Sam, Vivian and Martin observed gave them an idea about what those men had gone through, even though they didn't know what had happened.

"I wonder whose idea it was," Danny muttered, while he read the notes Patrick had given him again.

"I think it was the Area Director's idea. Uhm…boss…do we know something we shouldn't?" Patrick asked nervous.

"At this time, they should be arrested. All of them. I wonder what Andres Miranda has to do with it," Danny said thoughtful.

"He's Conrad's right hand now. Jason didn't like that guy. He told me he believed the beating was a lie…"

"That's evident; he did it to fool Davis."

"But, if Davis wanted to kill him, he only had to leave him in prison," Patrick reasoned and immediately regretted his words when Danny grimaced.

"No. He wanted to control the situation. Be sure. There's something we don't know Patrick. What happened when you left Miranda in the base," Danny commented worried.

"Conrad would have called a trustful contact to make it appear as if Miranda had been killed. Davis was sure that Miranda was dead."

"What contact, Patrick? It's assumed that we were sent because they didn't know who they could count on. Conrad only suspected Davis when the mission was already planned."

"The military men who were our backup in the island, the ones in the van. They took Miranda in the base." Patrick objected.

"No, I don't know; that doesn't make sense." Danny rested his elbows on his desk and covered his face for a moment with his hands. "General Moore was furious, he didn't know anything. Same as McAllister. Don't you think that he would know if the military had taken Miranda out the base? No, Conrad had or has someone on his side and I'm going to tell you who it is, because if Carlos Torres is a DEA agent, his sister Clara isn't there coincidence."

Patrick paled, remembering the relationship with the young woman. Instantly, he made an effort to remember what she could know.

"Clara Torres works for the CIA," Patrick spoke slowly.

"She works for Robert Conrad, undercover. She has the information, not Miranda," Danny corrected him.

"Did you read the report about her? What did it say?"

"Surely it's irrelevant. What they sent to the house about her, it came late and surely manipulated. Davis didn't even know. And I pointed her like a supporter of the corrupt people in the island, which gave her more cover. Clara Torres is there and she owes Conrad a big favor."

"There's nothing about his involvement during the shooting in the official reports," Patrick conceded understanding the matter.

Danny nodded.

"Then, Davis didn't plant the gun in the house," Patrick turned speechless realizing what it meant.

"No," Danny whispered and Patrick barely heard him.

Patrick didn't know what to say when he noticed how a desperate Danny covered his face with his hands hiding his expression from the others.

"Listen, you couldn't prevent everything," was the only thing Patrick happened to say.

Danny shook his head and looked at him for a moment, hopeless. He was exhausted.

"What's going on here?" None of them had seen Jack approaching the group, focused on the conversation, focused on Danny now.

"A change of plans," Patrick said.

"Wait a minute," Vivian intervened. "I don't know exactly what you've been involved in, but from my point of view, I understand that the CIA has a big problem."

"Something like that," Patrick conceded.

"I'm only interested in Danny's safety. Don't misunderstand me, yours as well," she added with a smile. "But if Danny was the Operation's boss, I understand that if there's any risk, it would fall on him, right?" she continued as she affectionately squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Danny, are you in danger?" She asked directly.

"I…I don't know Viv. I don't know who I can trust or not, I don't know what's true and what a lie is."

"You can trust us," Martin objected. "And I'll forget my pride and talk to my father if it's necessary to clear all of this," he continued, getting a mocking smirk from his friend.

Patrick looked at him confused. "His father is the Deputy Director of the FBI," Sam clarified.

"Oh well, in my opinion, the FBI has nothing to do with this matter. I would focus on Robert Conrad," Patrick said. "I'd talk to him clearly, Danny. I think Conrad apprecia…," Patrick shut up noticing Danny's expression. He sighed and resting his hands on his friend's shoulders, stared at him. "I know I can be naïve, Danny, but honestly I think that man appreciates you and know exactly what he made you go through. If his connection with Clara Torres is what I guess, I'm sorry to tell you that he knows exactly what happened. Honestly, I think he didn't have any other option. Danny, we have other judgment elements, people we didn't count on but probably had something to do in this matter, to make things happen the way it did."

"Could Conrad be protecting a bigger operation?" Jack added.

"And his agents, which, like Clara Torres, nobody knows about," Patrick replied.

"Then, why did they need us?" Danny asked.

"To catch Davis, to get an easier position to control the operation, don't forget he's now the Area Director, to get Miranda to trust him. To keep his agents and give them more security, to deal any operation a blow that's not our responsibility," Patrick continued with the idea Jack had pointed.

"And Miranda is part of it," Danny concluded. "Then, Carlos and Clara Torres work for Robert Conrad. If he took Miranda out of the island, it was because he knew too much and he could put in danger that other operation and betray his undercover agents. Is it that?"

"Probably," Patrick said blinking several times.

"But, what does that have to do with you?" Sam asked then.

Miranda is convinced that he gained Conrad's trust, but he's afraid of what we know and information we can give Conrad that will put him in a compromising position. Keeping the doubts over us, just like Davis wanted, is good for him. Miranda placed the gun in the house, at your disposal. Remember that he was already there for several months when we returned," Patrick said.

"If like Patrick says, Robert Conrad appreciates you and trusts you for this mission, he won't let Miranda do that to you," Martin said.

Danny was going to say something but he didn't. He had serious doubts about what Conrad would let happen if he got what he wanted.

"Are you going to call Conrad?" Patrick asked.

"No, I'm not going to call Conrad. I don't want to see that guy for the rest of my life," Danny replied disgusted, as he stood up.

"Okay, if you say so. I'll call Alex," Patrick followed him with his eyes while Danny headed for a vending machine placed in the corridor. He shook his head. Jack patted his back.

"Everything is going to be okay," he said with a smile.

"Shit, no way," Patrick muttered, making sure that Jack couldn't hear him. He turned back to the others and he was certain that Martin understood that his whispered expression, had nothing had to do with the conversation they had just had.

….

"Interesting story," he said, sitting down beside his friend with a steaming cup of coffee. "A vitamin supplement?" he asked pointing to the pill bottle Danny had just put in his pocket.

"It's for the headache," he replied.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Martin asked.

Danny shook his head. "No, I don't think so,"

"Are you upset that we are concerned about you? Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, Danny?"

"I don't want to be a problem for anyone. I can deal with it, Martin."

"You aren't a problem, you're a friend. Tell me what I can help you with, and I'll be there. But if you don't want me to help you, I'll be there anyway."

Danny smiled. "Thanks," he muttered.

Both men remained quiet for a while.

"I'm living a moment in my life, Martin, in which I'm fighting to move on from the feeling that I've been used, that I'm still being used," Danny was speaking more for himself than for his friend. "Having Patrick around here implies playing a double role, you know? I can't…I can't low my guard before him, but I'm really, really tired."

"Why don't you go home? Take several days off? Maybe you decided to come back too soon," Martin suggested.

Danny shook his head. "No, I'd be fine here, doing my job if Patrick wasn't here. But I suggested this way to better his situation. He lost his former job and when I thought about sending the reports to our servers, I guessed it would be a good place for him."

"And it is. You've protected him and gave him a solution. Danny, you have to do it with yourself. And it starts by you recovering physically."

"Do I look that bad?" Danny smiled tiredly.

"You're not well, that's clear, I'm afraid. Viv took you home yesterday and later had a conversation with Jack. Sam and I are talking about you as well… thinking of a way to help you…"

Danny shook his head. "Don't do it, please…you can't help me. There's only one person who could do it and I won't ask him."

Martin was surprised, but he didn't let that opportunity go. "Who?"

But he didn't get an answer from Danny.

"Danny, don't leave us out of your life, we're part of it, whether you like it or not. But, all right, I'm your friend and I respect your decision," he said finally, feeling sad for not being able to address the conversation the way he wanted.

"I know Martin, and I'm grateful. I'm not leaving you out, it's…it's that I have to straighten some things, some details in my mind," Danny told him pointing a finger to his head. "I need time, I've always needed it, since Conrad turned his attention toward me, damn it. And now, when I believed that everything was done, I find out that it's not, no way this is over, other elements I didn't count come to complicate even more my situation and…"

Martin listened to him as he collected Danny's empty cup and his, and threw them into a nearby trash can.

"You know what? I think I'll take your word about one thing," Danny finally said, standing up and heading to the bullpen with him. "I'm going back home, I'm going to take that time, I can't do it here,"

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Martin agreed giving him a pat on his back.

….

It was the best thing he could do, he thought, as he headed back home. He had taken a cab instead of the subway, as a precaution. He had taken with him the report about the gun Patrick had gotten and a new copy Tom gave him with the reports each one had written and the final report Robert Conrad also had. Joining the documents he got in the house in Washington and the surely manipulated report about Clara Torres, he would have enough information to try putting some order for the events and images in his mind, as true, false truths, suspicious and thousands of doubts. He couldn't move on if he didn't find a way to put in order all that information. He needed time and a quiet place to do it. Pulling out his cell phone, he searched in his contact list for a name. Mateo Sykes. Who had said that he didn't have a social life? Smiling, he knew Mateo wasn't in any list as a possible. He had been furious when his girlfriend preferred Mateo to him then; even if Danny wasn't the best person in the world during his first year at the University and had to admit that Michelle had made a good decision to choose Mateo. Still, he remembered the good times with her. Today, things would be very different…or not.

"Taylor!" he heard at the other end of the line, before saying a word. So Mateo has his name registered.

"That's me, how are you doing Mat?"

"Fine, fine! Leaving Rikers from visiting one of my guys," the lawyer replied. "What's going on? Does the FBI need my services? By the way, you owe me the tickets for the Mets, I remind you. Listen, it's been years since we have seen each other. Come by the house sometime, we'll drink some beer. Michelle will be glad to see you."

"Sure," Danny groaned. "Listen, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course, what is it?"

"Do you still have that cabin in the Catskills?"

"Yeah, sure, why?"

"Could I borrow it? It'd be just for a couple of days, four or five, not more than that."

"Have you had an argument with your girlfriend?" Mateo asked in a kidding tone. "Sure, you can, although I don't know how it is, it's been a while since we used it for the last time, it's small now with so much kids."

"I haven't argued with anybody. It's just I need a quiet place to do something and I remembered your cabin…that's all."

"Sure, take groceries and warm clothes. It's been closed all winter. The key is where it always is. Hey, is everything alright?" Mateo noticed Danny wasn't as talkative as he usually was.

"Yes, yes, it's that I'm in the middle of something. I have to go now, thanks for the cabin. And I haven't forgotten your tickets. I'll call you and meet."

"Whenever you want; the one always busy is you," Mateo laughed. "Okay, bro, I'm glad you called."

Danny ended the call. It was a good place to work, even though the images of the Catskills cabin he remembered were very different. He didn't want to know what Michelle would remember.

Several minutes later, he got out of the taxi and walked into his building. Opening the mailbox, he picked up several old letters. He didn't receive much letters and he had to admit he was pretty much careless with it.

The fact the elevator was broken wasn't new in the old building and everybody was used to the service elevator at the end of the corridor. It was good for him, since it was closer to his apartment in the fifth floor. As he walked through the corridor to the service elevator, he wondered if he could afford a change. It wasn't what he paid for that apartment. The years had made it part of him, it meant his independency, his life out of the system and most of the neighbors were good people. Even though he hadn't asked, the CIA had been pretty much generous with him, increasing his monthly incomes noticeably. That and the fact that despite of having the same job he always had, his category at the FBI was superior, similar to his own supervisory and joined it, his salary. Yes, maybe it was time for a change, he thought, fishing the keys in his pocket.

He found them but what he had to take out right there was his gun, and unlocking it carefully, he remained listening for a moment, holding his breath. Inside, nothing was heard now, but the sound he had heard had put him on high alert. Looking around, he observed nobody around, and looking at the lock he didn't notice anything strange.

Carefully and still holding his gun, he introduced the key and turned it. Definitely, someone had gone into his apartment because he needed no more than a turn to open it. It was clear inside and the figure he saw looking at him in front of the door, relaxed him so much. "Rafi, what are you doing here?" he asked his brother, opening the door completely, not realizing the gesture his brother made.

….


	14. Chapter 14

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 14**

**FBI headquarters, New York. April, 8. 2006**

Looking at the time, Martin tried once again dialing the phone number. On its fourth time during the last forty minutes he got the same result. He stared at the phone as if it was going to talk to him, with such a worried face than it caught his colleagues' attention.

"What's going on Martin? Did some girl refuse to fall for your charm?" Vivian asked.

He shook his head. "It's Danny, it's been three days since I've heard any news from him. It's not normal for him to turn off his cell phone for that long."

Vivian frowned. "Have you passed by his house?"

"No, I just…I just wanted to know how he's doing. I suggested to him to take several days off…"

"Maybe he left, you know, driving that motorcycle he uses from time to time," Sam said.

"No…I don't think so. He'd do it if he was fine, but he's not," Martin replied. "I'm going to ask Patrick, maybe he knows where Danny is," he added walking to the zone where the computer technicians were working on recovering the natural tone of a fake voice.

He made a gesture to Patrick so he left for a moment. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Have you heard from Danny?" he asked.

"No, why?"

Martin looked at him as if he was an idiot. "It's been three days since I've been able to get in touch with him."

"He said he was going home, that he would take several days off. He'll be fine," Patrick said. "Listen, I have to go back to work."

Martin stared at him. Maybe it was just him. However, he walked into Jack's office, knocking on the door and going in without waiting. "Do you want to come with me to Danny's place?" he directly asked.

Jack looked at him in surprise. "What? What's going on?" his questions, to Martin's relieve, were followed by action. Leaving his office, coat and keys in hand, both agents walked into the parking lot and took one of the FBI's cars.

….

"I don't understand why Danny still lives here," Martin protested, noticing the broken elevator and looking at the stairs.

"Come on, it's only five floors," Jack smirked, even if he silently cursed the broken elevator.

"I'll leave a real state agency newspaper on his desk, to see if he gets the idea," Martin continued.

"This is his home, Martin. It always has been," Jack told in a tone that made Martin think that something else was behind those words. "He didn't tell you, huh? Imagine what it means having your own place, after spending most of your life in foster homes. It must be a hell of an experience."

"Yeah," Martin sighed. "I suspected something. Nothing that he told me even if I had asked, right?"

"No need," Jack warned him. "Well, it's here," he said looking at the door. Knocking he waited. Nobody opened, nothing was heard. Approaching his ear to the door, he tried to get some sound. "It looks like there's nobody inside." He followed, taking the keys and opening the door.

The apartment was empty but clearly something had happened there, because of the mess they found. "What happened here?" Martin exclaimed. "And, where's Danny?" Both men exchanged an alarmed look.

"Don't touch anything," Jack ordered, stopping his steps. "Danny!" he yelled while pulling out his cell phone.

Ten minutes later, several agents took fingerprints, photographs, and anything useful for the investigation they had just opened, in an apartment already searched carefully. Jack and Martin looked around the apartment for anything related to what Danny had been doing for the last year, but they didn't find anything. If there was something, it was gone or between the mess of papers in the living room. All of the books from the shelves were scattered on the floor, the drawers emptied and their contents had been thrown on the floor. The living room and the bedroom were a mess. The kitchen cabinets were also opened and emptied even the contents of several packages.

"What were they looking for?" Jack wondered.

"Maybe the gun that Danny and Patrick were talking about the other day?" Martin suggested.

"Maybe. When was the last time you talked to him?"

"That day, it was when I suggested to him to go home." Martin replied, while he took a shiny object from under the bedside. It was an identification plate. He read the name: "Rafael Alvarez."

"Vivian," he said as soon as he heard her voice on the phone. "Yes, well, this is a mess," he answered her questions. "Listen, do you know where Danny's brother lives? We've found an identification plate with his name in Danny's house. I don't think it's useless to question him."

"Let me search in the database. Rafael Alvarez, isn't it?" Vivian confirmed. "Any clue about Danny?"

"No, nothing. Yes, Rafael Alvarez, that's the name."

"Patrick says that Danny asked him for the reports he took to Langley and carried with him, with the gun report they had been talking about. Do you know anything about it? Did you see them?"

"No, I'll search for it, but this is a mess. They were looking for something because it's all removed. But I don't care about that, I only want to know where Danny is," he said with a broken voice.

Vivian bit her lips and closed her eyes. "We'll find him, Martin. Don't despair, we'll find him."

"It's been three days, Viv, and he wasn't fine."

"Sam has called the hospitals and he's not there." She didn't tell her colleague that Sam had also called the morgue with similar results. Martin knew they had called. "I'll visit his brother. I'll tell you if we find anything."

Jack and Martin stayed in the apartment, supervising the agents' work, but they didn't find any significant evidence.

"He didn't get here, Jack. His gun isn't here, his keys, and neither is his wallet… he didn't come in." Martin concluded.

"Or maybe he came in and they took him out, Martin," Jack objected. "Let's ask the neighbors. These walls are thin, something good has to come from an old building."

The adjacent apartment's door was open by a young woman with a baby in her arms and another little curious kid beside her. "Agents Malone and Fitzgerald from the FBI, can we ask you some questions about your neighbor?"

She nodded, letting them enter. "Has he done something wrong?" She asked.

"No, we're looking for him," Martin replied surprised. "Have you heard something strange, different, in the apartment?"

"No, well…the apartment has been empty for a long time, but several weeks ago, two guys came in. My father opened the door because they gave him a note from Danny saying that they were siblings. Danny…I saw him one week ago. He was…well…different."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, while he read the note the woman still had on a shelf. It had to be Patrick and Alex Cordoba when they arrived to New York, he concluded. Patrick had told him about staying at his home.

"He was thinner and looked tired…"

"Did you hear or see anything strange today, some time ago, several days ago…?" Martin asked in a desperate tone.

"Yes, two days ago, we were sleeping but my husband got up to check on the baby who was crying. When he came back, he told me about an argument in the apartment. At the moment, I didn't care but later, they started like moving the furniture, I almost knocked on the door to tell him some words."

"Could you tell me what language they were speaking?" Martin asked.

"I don't know, I didn't understand well. We heard but didn't understand what they were saying," she replied. "I'm sorry," she continued, noticing the frustrated look on Martin's expression.

"It's not your fault," he said, handing her a card. "If you remember anything, just call me, whatever it is."

She nodded as they left.

Jack's cell phone started ringing as they left the apartment. "Tell me, Viv. Yes, what? Okay, I'll be there right now." He looked at Martin. "Rafi, Danny's brother, he was here. He has some information to tell us."

The man was waiting nervously in the interview room. Temperamental the man was, Rafael Alvarez felt like a caged lion. Being arrested with the conditional wasn't the best of the situations and he hadn't done anything wrong. Or at least he believed that, because as much as he tried, he wasn't able to remember what had happened since the beer he had drank and the guys who sat down beside him, until the moment he appeared at home with a swelled eye and some bruises on his face, just to scare his son, Nicky. And now the FBI was taking him to the offices and didn't say a word.

"Good afternoon, Rafael," Jack said, going into the interview room and sitting down in front of him.

"What am I doing here? What are you accusing me of?" he yelled.

"Calm down, Rafael. Can you explain what you were doing in your brother's apartment three days ago?"

"He's…he's my brother. Have I been in his house?" He asked with such a confused face that Jack couldn't help but believe him.

"We found this," he said showing the ID with Rafi's name. "And your fingerprints are all around the apartment, bedroom, kitchen, living room…"

"Where's my brother?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. What do you remember? How did this ID get into his apartment?"

Rafi shook his head as Jack was talking. "I…I don't know, but I know that something happened. I don't know, I arrived home with a swollen eye, my lips hurt…." Rafi showed him, "…and a cut on my cheek," There were still the marks on his face.

"Tell me what you remember," Jack asked. He realized that Rafie could barely help them, he didn't seem to have a clear mind.

"We had left the mechanic garage and went to drink some beers,"

"Who?"

"Me, Dorta and Manuel, from the garage. They left but I stayed. Then, those guys I hadn't seen in my life approached me, asked for beers and started talking. One of them asked me if I lived nearby and where to find a…a…I don't know, I don't remember… it's not clear from then…" Rafie remained quiet for a second, remembering something. "Excuse me a second," he asked standing up and taking off his t-shirt. Jack saw what Rafi was looking for. The mark of a syringe was still on his arm.

"Maybe you were drugged," Jack commented. "We'll do a blood test," he added knowing, however, that it was possibly too late for it. "Look at these pictures, do you recognize any of them?" Jack put on the desk a picture of Andres Miranda and Carlos Torres. Rafi frowned. "Rafael, I know this is complicated but try to remember and tell me what you can, even if just a few images."

"No, they weren't. I don't know, let me think…I remember a car, it wasn't a cab. I don't remember how long or where. I remember a building…a service elevator…we went into an apartment. I think I fell asleep on a couch. When I woke up everything spun around me and I couldn't see fine, but I know they put me on my feet and…and…I think the door was opened…. Someone said my name…maybe…I think Danny. The next I remember was my scared son looking at me at home."

Jack could elaborate a theory immediately. But, why did they let Rafi live? Why take that risk? And, why did they use him to get to Danny? They didn't need him, unless…

"Did they interrogate you?" He asked.

Rafi shook his head. "They said something like…like 'divert the attention'… what would they mean?"

Jack got an answer, especially because he had thought about it at first. "So, they said that before or after they removed your id?"

"What do you mean? Did they hurt Danny and they want me to look guilty?" Rafi yelled losing his temper.

"We know you didn't, calm down. Look, I'm going to call the sketch artist and I want you to collaborate with him in describing those guys. If you don't remember well, just focus on the time you spent with them in the bar, before you were drugged, alright? If you remember some specific detail, the tone of their voices, the accent, any tattoos… whatever, don't forget to tell, do I make myself clear?"

Rafii nodded. "But, where's Danny? Where's my brother?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

…..

Jack left the interrogation room with the frustration in his face. He didn't want to place the picture of his agent on the whiteboard and write the red line with the events from the last hours before his disappearance, hours they knew pretty well. It wasn't necessary to investigate much to know who was behind Danny's disappearance, and it had nothing to do with Rafael Alvarez.

"Spread his picture through Police stations, hospitals…" he ordered Sam.

"Right now," she said. "Jack…" They both exchanged a worried look, too much time had passed.

"I'm going to talk to Robert Conrad, he must know something. Call me if you find some lead."

"Where are you going?" Martin asked.

"Washington," Jack replied.

"I'm going with you," Martin began, standing up, but Jack stopped him.

"No, I need you here, I need you all here."

"Well guys, let's organize this," Vivian ordered, taking the lead immediately, while Jack left the FBI offices and New York well soon to a FBI plane heading to Washington.

Two hours later, he was going into the CIA building in Langley, where he had been so recently. A shiver ran down his body as he remembered the last time he had been there. He hadn't called and didn't know if he would meet Robert Conrad. Contact with the FBI Director would be a good idea if he didn't meet him. But he was lucky and had to wait less than five minutes after announcing his name.

"Agent Malone," Conrad approached him offering his hand. "I'm Robert Conrad, you asked for me,"

"Yes, indeed. Where can we talk?" Jack asked.

"In my office, please, come with me. Uhm…. If I remember well, you're…"

"I work with the FBI, Missing Persons Unit in New York. I'm Danny Taylor's supervisor," Jack cut him off, doubting Conrad wouldn't know that.

Conrad had stopped and opened a door. They went in and he closed it. "Take a seat, please. How can I help you?"

"Agent Taylor is missing," Jack began. Conrad, who was going to sit down, stayed still, surprised. "I think it has something to do with the mission he did for you."

"What? What happened?" Conrad asked frowning.

" I expected you tell me. Three days ago, some guys took him out from home. The way we found his apartment, it was clear they were searching for something. We suspect they were looking for the gun he had during his stay in the house in Washington."

"What gun?"

"Danny ordered to investigate the serial number and it resulted to be involved in gunfire where two DEA agents were shot and killed. It's registered to Carlos Torres. I know enough to imply the importance this fact has for you."

Conrad had paled. "That…report…was encrypted and protected. How the hell did he get the inform…? Oh, Patrick, of course."

"You did great your work recruiting them for that mission," Jack said. "Tell me how I can find my agent, Conrad."

Robert Conrad raised a finger, inviting him to stay quiet while his mind tried to assimilate the information and his ideas.

"This report you talk about, where is it?" he asked.

"Danny took with him when he disappeared. He told a colleague he would take all the information he had to revise it in detail because it was something that worried him, especially since he knew the property of the gun."

"Of course, it wouldn't be a good thing for other people know about that."

"Like Andrés Miranda?" Jack asked.

"I didn't know about that gun. It had to be Andrés who placed it in the house. He's interested in making sure that Taylor disappears. That report brings veracity to Carlos Torres's position in this moment and Miranda went directly to the trap, but it wasn't the intention when it was done."

"The report is false," Jack understood.

"Yes and no, the gun is property of Carlos but it wasn't used during that gunfire. Carlos Torres is one of us, but under Miranda's eyes, he had to be a corrupted agent, his contact in Miami."

"Why don't you stop putting my agent in danger, Conrad? Danny Taylor can be an excellent agent but he's not one of yours, and he doesn't want to be. I've been told you've forced too much his situation."

"Maybe it's late, but I'll try to find out what's happening, Agent Malone. When I talked to your agent and he agreed to take part in this mission, he already knew about the risk…"

"Don't say stupid things, Conrad. I perfectly know the way you do things. Did you explain to him that he was risking his life to take out a corrupted agent on the island? I bet you didn't explain to him that specific detail. You didn't explain it to him because he knew just a few hours before he disappeared. He also understood then that your contact was actually a woman named Clara Torres… the gun owner's sister."

Conrad facial muscle turned tense for a second.

"You're thinking about her at this moment, aren't you?" Jack shook his head. "Danny was right, we advised him to talk to you but he didn't want to. Now, I know why." He sharply stood up and walked toward the door. Before leaving he added. "If something happens to Taylor, I'll make you responsible of it Conrad. Remember my words because I swear you I'll do i5. So, do your job."

**Two days earlier someplace in New York, in a bank of the Hudson River.**

Duane Jones looked in disbelief at the guy staring at his whiskey bottle he had found on a nearby trash, his dinner for the night. He raised a warning filthy finger, while still unbalanced dropped his body on the place he usually spent the night. He organized the cartons and sit to enjoy the last gulp. Around him, a dozen indigent people, some of them old known, took position to spend one more night. He didn't know he would be lucky, until one moment later, the light of the moon brought him the brilliant light of an object near the water. In that zone, going into the Hudson was easy, even if none of them would try. The curiosity, however, tempted him, and walking carefully through the mud and grass, Duane approached the water.

He didn't see the man laying on the bank, he saw the shoes, the coat, the pants, the shirt… but specially the shoes. He figured out it fit his feet well so he approached to removed them… would he have a pocket? Other indigents approached, and now all of them fought the right to take some clothes. Between three of them, they took the man out the bank. He was still breathing but it would be a matter of time before he died, they decided. Removing his shoes and coat, the wrist watch and socks that someone put close to the fire in a metallic container, they left the man and the ruined shirt he wore and came back to their business. Duane looked proud at his new shoes for the next years, so did Maria who decided she wouldn't be cold that winter. It was her now looking suspiciously around. Let someone dare try to steal her coat. They would get more than they bargained for.

…


	15. Chapter 15

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 15**

**FBI headquarters, New York. April, 9. 2006**

"What have we got?" Jack asked, looking at the empty whiteboard and being grateful for not having any new case to work. If any of his superiors knew what they were doing, the investigation would go to another team immediately and Jack didn't have any intention of letting that happen.

"Not much," Sam said. "We've found the cab driver who took him home and he told us he arrived at 11:00 A.M. He remembered seeing him going into the building because at that moment someone asked him to wait and got in the cab. Whatever happened to him, it happened at home, Jack."

"What about the apartment?" Jack asked.

"We've found fingerprints from Danny and Rafi. Nothing else. The documents Danny carried weren't in the apartment, not even the one he mentioned was at his home." Martin replied.

"We've spread his picture through police stations, hospitals, morgues," Vivian said.

Patrick approached them. "Has he contacted you?" Jack asked. Patrick shook his head.

"Is there any way to locate your colleagues, Jason Díaz, the other guy…?"

"Alex Córdoba. Yes, I called him to tell him to destroy the gun we found in the house."

"Call them and explain what's going on, to stay alert. If Danny has called them, let me talk to them. Ah… and be careful." Jack ordered.

Patrick left while pulling out his cell phone and started calling.

"What did Conrad tell you?" Martin asked.

"Nothing, he agrees that this has to do with Miranda and his people, but he was worried about his work not by Danny. Still, he's trying to find out what's going on and he'll call me, if he can." He rubbed a hand over his face in a worried and tired expression.

"Jack, maybe he wasn't kidnapped, maybe he had time to run if he realized something was wrong at home." Sam pointed.

Jack shook his head. "No, he opened, Rafi saw him."

"Rafi was drugged, maybe it wasn't him."

"He'd have called, he'd have contacted us or them," Jack said pointing to Patrick as he approached.

"Nothing, they didn't know anything," he announced. "I explained to them what's going on, they haven't noticed anything strange, but they're going to be careful. I… I don't know what to do, but if you want me to help, whatever it is… I'll do it."

"Thanks," Jack palmed his back in gratitude. They remained silent for a moment until Jack reacted. "I'll go back to my office, continue the work. If Van Doran see us like this, she's going to suspect and I don't want anybody to know about this."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Vivian asked.

"If I say something, say goodbye to the investigation." Jack replied.

"But we could count on more people," she objected.

"Or not, with the cuts, the only thing they are going to do is assign another team, Anderson's. To him, Danny is a complete unknown agent." Jack said.

"As unknown as any of our missing persons, Jack. You know the work doesn't speak about friendship."

But Jack shook his head. "My gut tells me that we have to do it alone, call it whatever you want, but I won't talk to Van Doran, or anybody else."

**New York, April 9, 2006**

The darkness was invading his vision once again, except the unstable and further light from the fire that warm that place, even if he continued shivering. Huddled, he stretched out his arm and covered himself with the ruined blanket trying to get some warmth, although he knew it would never reach his bare feet. Fortunately, he didn't feel pain anymore, but he didn't dare move, he was only cold and thirsty, but just thinking about drinking caused him nausea. The scenes filling his mind about what had happened during the last hours, were vanishing, becoming confusing, some he didn't want to remember them and were still in his mind, but he didn't cry anymore because of it, he didn't have any strength for it. The taste of the river water, the pain he felt once he was dragged out the water, only to understand they only wanted to take his clothes. Of course, his clothes, he was just a bunch of meat and broken bones, or at least it was how he felt until some hours earlier. Now, he was just tired. He closed his eyes, defeated. He knew it would be the last night for him. Finally, his nightmare would end.

That night, Lance, Karen, Donna and Peter, just as they did once a week, approached under that bridge and tried to convince some indigents to come with them to one of the houses their organization worked and try the medical needs they could afford on the field. It was difficult to convince them, fears of losing the only 'property' they had, a place under that bridge to spend the night, but sometimes they convinced someone that a warm plate of food and a comfortable bed was worthy enough to take the risk.

Karen greeted some of them she knew for months, and noticed the coat Maria wore, who smiled showing the holes where once some teeth took its place. "Beautiful coat, where did you get it?" she asked.

"I didn't steal it," Maria replied in a defensive tone and hiding in her small space.

Karen smiled. "How are you doing today?"

The woman stretched her arm and took the warm glass of milk the young woman offered her. "Fucking good," she replied.

"Where did you find it?" Karen asked. It didn't seem that she had gotten it from the garbage, it was pretty new. But sometimes, they fought between them to get new things, and maybe Maria could have problems later. She thought about taking her to one of their houses, when Lance approached her.

He observed Maria's coat and frowned. "Duane is wearing new shoes," he said. Both looked back to Maria. "Did you take it from Duane?" Karen asked.

The woman shook her head, while her eyes diverted, betraying her, to some further point where most of them rested. Lance and Karen looked at that place but didn't see anything, it was too dark. "Stay here," Lance said to Karen and pulling out his flashlight, walked toward where Maria had looked.

Lance didn't find him quickly, but he saw the ripped shirt and the man's bare feet, under an old blanket that barely covered him. He quickly bent down and took the man's hand looking for a pulse and he found it after a moment, very weak. He called his partners who immediately started helping the man with first aid. Stabilizing him in that place was almost impossible; the young man was unconscious and barely responsive to any stimuli. Calling a nearby hospital, they put him in the ambulance and drove quickly toward the hospital.

"I've seen his face somewhere," Donna said, as they treated him with the first aid in the ambulance. "Yes, I know, I saw a picture of him, in the emergency room…"

"You're right," Peter said after observing him a moment. "We have to call the FBI," he said, calling the hospital.

…

Jason went into the wide room and walked along the corridor where at one side he found the beds just separated by curtains. Being a doctor, it wasn't the first time he visited the ICU in a hospital, where you find patients whose only sign of life is the sound of the monitors registering their beating hearts. But when you were looking for one of yours, the situation was completely different. He found him at the end of the corridor, almost engulfed by the bed where he rested, almost cadaver-like, paled, weak, lifeless but connected to one of those machines that said the opposite of what he was looking at.

The call he had received, what Jack Malone had told him, had nothing to do with the man he saw before him now.

He took the only chair he found and sat down beside him. Fortunately, Danny couldn't see the tears rolling down his face, uncontrollably. He couldn't see the way Jason took off the crucifix he wore as a necklace and placed it in his hand, who took in his and took both to his forehead, trying to pray to a God, who eight years earlier, had refused to save Patricia and Eleanor and kept him so much time far from them.

'The first seventy-two hours are the most important'. He knew that all too well. It all depended on that time. If he survived the first seventy-two hours, he had a fighting chance of survival; if not, they could only wait, or disconnect him from life support. Jason ignored Danny's wishes, but they had discussed their beliefs when they were at the house in Washington, and although he knew Danny didn't attend the church much lately, his belief was still firm. The story Danny told him about a priest helping him to stay away from the gangs and turn way from a life that would have made a delinquent of him, had something to do with it. It was something earthlier than divine, Jason concluded, but it shouldn't be an obstacle for his prayers not to be heard and answered. If not for him, then maybe God would have sympathy for his friend.

He didn't know how long he'd been there. He didn't want to leave, but he remembered the people waiting outside, with no more information than the doctors had given them.

"I'll be right back," he said, even if Danny couldn't hear him. Putting the necklace in his pocket, he left the ICU room, wiping the tears from his face. He didn't want them to see him crying, but Danny's chances of survival weren't good. Although, that was something that he wouldn't say to the people outside in the waiting room.

"How is he?" Alex asked as soon as he saw him. The young soldier had just arrived and was asking for Danny when he saw Jason.

"Hi Alex," Jason greeted, hugging his colleague. "You've changed," he said rubbing his hand over the very short hair. "He's… he's not well, Alex. The next several hours are critical, so all we can do is wait."

"But, what happened?" he asked.

"Let's go, Patrick is in the waiting room. It's around the corner. And his FBI colleagues are here as well. They had been searching for him for some time."

"I know. Patrick told me," Alex said.

"Hello," he greeted the group.

Jack stood up. "Alex, aren't you?"

"Yes, we met in Langley. Although I looked different then."

"Yes, I see," Jack smiled at the young man's military-style haircut. "Jason, have you seen Danny? How is he?" He asked.

"We have to wait, Jack. How he evolves will determine his condition." Jason said.

"But, what's your opinion?"

Jason looked down and wasn't able to say anything. But his gesture and body language said enough.

He was the only one allowed to enter that room. When Jack approached and saw Jason taking Danny's hand and resting it on his forehead, the soft movement of his shoulder, told him the big effort the doctor had made before them not to lose the control. After seeing that, Jack wasn't able to go into Danny's room. He turned back and returned even more worried to the waiting room, where the air seemed to vanish and the feeling of silent anguish was the only thing they could breathe.

As he walked into the waiting room, he heard Patrick talking to Alex. Being that young, Alex was very confident, much more confident than Patrick was. Jack remembered that same confidence in Danny the first time he interviewed Danny to be part of the team, and he was the same age Alex was now.

"Did you destroy the gun, like I asked?" Patrick asked.

Alex shook his head. "No, I didn't, but it's well hidden. Don't worry about it."

"What? I clearly told you to destroy the gun. It's Carlos Torres' and that guy is involved in a shooting that killed two DEA agents," Patrick whispered angrily.

"Relax, Patrick. That's why I didn't destroy it. And because, like you should know, I only obey the boss' orders."

"He told me to call you," Patrick objected.

"And, did he say to destroy it?" Alex questioned but he already knew the answer.

"No…I…I suggested it. He…he was reading that report; we were understanding the new situation. It was the best thing to do."

"No, we need the gun, Patrick. I've cleaned it, don't worry. There's not a single fingerprint to incriminate him to the gun. It's Carlos Torres' gun and it was used during a shooting. The way it reached us, that's our advantage over Robert Conrad, Carlos Torres, Andres Miranda, and whoever else is responsible for what's going on."

"Or Clara Torres," Patrick added. "Danny thinks she's involved. She works for Conrad and she has the key information about a case that escaped our mission."

Alex looked at him. "So that's better," he muttered. "Look, Jason's coming again." He said.

They all raised their heads and saw as Jason Diaz didn't approach them but instead continued down the corridor. Alex stood up immediately and poked his head just to see him talking with the administration. Then he headed toward them and squeezing Alex's shoulder, he did something to make the young man nod. His relieved expression passed onto the rest of them when they sat down.

"I was telling Alex that I've asked permission to stay with Danny. I'm a doctor, I can do it," he explained. "He won't be alone a single minute."

"That's good, thanks," Vivian said with a grateful smile.

"Yes, but it doesn't mean that we're leaving," Sam said. "Not until the doctors tell us something."

"They won't tell us anything until seventy-two hours have passed. Until then, his condition is uncertain. He can worsen or improve, but they won't know until then for sure," Jason explained to her. "I know it's hard, but that's how it is."

"Well," she said. Her eyes were moist with tears and she didn't want anyone to see her. Standing up, she muttered, "I'm going to get something from the vending machine."

"I'll go with you," Martin said, standing up and putting his arm her shoulders, he walked away with her.

"Alex," Jack started. "I've been talking to Robert Conrad. I was listening to your conversation about the gun…"

"What does it have to do with that?" Jason cut him off.

"I asked Alex to destroy it, as soon as I had the report about the serial number, Danny had asked me to look for. It wasn't a clean gun, and it's registered to Carlos Torres," Patrick explained.

Jason looked at him. "You asked him…what?" He nearly yelled. "And you, what did you do?" he asked Alex.

"I haven't destroyed it. I just cleaned the fingerprints and kept it. It was what Danny asked me to do when he gave it to me, when I left the house."

"Are you an idiot or what?" Jason confronted Patrick. "This is the second time, the second time, you do something so stupid. Where have you come from, kid? I don't buy that story about the lonely inexperienced computer technician. This is serious, Patrick. Did Danny tell you to destroy the gun?"

Patrick shook his head.

"Well? Was it not clear to you, from the first moment, that orders only come from the boss? Nobody else but him opened the door? You didn't have to flirt with the first woman that smiled at you? You couldn't make any decision without consulting him?" he yelled, making Alex hold his arm as a warning.

"Damn it!" He yelled angrily and released his arm from Alex's hold.

He sat down and rubbed a desperate hand over his face. Alex sat down beside him. "Jason, I didn't destroy the gun. Danny didn't ask me to do it, so I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything, all right?"

"Guys," Jack interrupted them. "What I wanted to tell you before you interrupted me is that I've been talking to Robert Conrad." Jack told them about what the conversation had been about.

"Great," Alex said, still upset by the situation.

"I remember something Robert Conrad told me the day we went to Langley," Jason said. "He told me that I always argued in the worst moments. There was something between Danny and I. In the house. We had a lot of arguments in the house, but…how the hell did Conrad know that?"

"He probably put microphones inside the house," Alex said.

"But we searched for them and didn't find any," Patrick objected, remembering Danny yelling as he was dying.

"We didn't find them but the matter is that Robert Conrad could know about the gun." Jason said.

"Maybe he doesn't." Alex frowned. "I felt strange the way Danny gave me the gun, without any words, instead just talking about casual things. He asked me to stay quiet when I tried to ask for an explanation."

"Yeah, he didn't tell me the serial number. Instead, he wrote it down on a paper he made me memorize it. We never talked about it aloud," Patrick said. "I thought I was the paranoid one there."

"You?" Alex spit out, in a tone that made the others looked at him.

"What did I say now?" Patrick protested.

"How many times did I ask you to stop talking when you told me how the CIA had taken you out of your office in Silicon Valley and while you screamed 'no, no, don't take me out, this is a mistake, call my daddy!' they put you in a plane to New York, huh?" Alex asked, confronting his colleague all of a sudden.

Both men stood up and looked each other fiercely.

"What the hell are you talking about, Alex?" Patrick asked, attempting to control his rage, his face reddened with fury.

"This is what I'm talking about, pretty boy. You weren't able to shut your mouth up in a place where anyone could learn what we were doing there. But no, you decided that you needed to talk anyone about your sad situation, rather than doing your job. Who was the boss, Patrick?" Alex yelled.

"Guys, that's enough." Jason tried.

"Danny was the boss!" Patrick yelled back.

"What if Danny wasn't around, who was the boss then?" Alex repeated.

"You were the boss!"

"Then, why the hell you don't understand what an order is, Patrick? It was easy, Danny or me. You only had to do your job. Or did your father never teach you that? Huh?" Alex asked angrily.

Patrick pulled his friend away. "Don't talk to me like that. You don't know a damn thing, Alex. I don't understand about military matters, I don't work for the FBI or anything like that. That wasn't my job!"

"Danny spent an entire month teaching you and he continued doing it later. And you didn't have so much to do, just obey the orders and do your job, so that's what you do a hell of great. But you don't need to give orders or make decisions by your own, damn it!" Alex turned back nervously and walked through the corridor, probably looking to calm his rage. They didn't need to wait too long for him to come back and sit down beside Jason.

Patrick had sat down and pressed both sides of his head with his fingers, as he moved strangely in a sort of nervous gesture.

"Come on, guys, you're nervous but this is not the time or the place to have an argument. Talk about this but not here. And talk, don't argue. And Alex, don't try figure things out. Remember what we have in common, the four of us." Jason said. "And Patrick, calm down already, please."

"I see that Danny had to do his job well to keep you in line," Vivian said, attempting to ease the tension.

"Yes, he did," Alex admitted. "He devoted a lot of time teaching us what we had to do, and he established a trustful relationship in a really short time."

Jason nodded. "I only know one other person able to establish trust so fast. He was a major working in the base I was at in Germany. Although, I don't know if it was a matter of trust or the fear we had of him."

"It must be weird having a younger person than you as your boss," Jack commented.

"Not with Danny, he knew everything that he was doing." Jason said.

Patrick smiled. He had calmed down but the tears still rolled down his cheeks and he felt ashamed. He was affected by Alex's words and was glad that Danny didn't tell them about his past. "The first day, when he interviewed me, he established a connection I had never had with anybody. From the beginning, he encouraged me and made it clear that I could and should trust him. And he was always positive about my job."

"And he offered you a way out that suited you just right," Alex said, trying to make peace with him. "I'm sorry Patrick, I've been too rude with you, you know that I didn't mean to say any of that."

"You're probably right about some of the things that you said, but this is not the time or the place. We'll talk, if you'd like, some other time." Patrick conceded.

"Guys," Vivian started. "I think we should leave. We're not doing anything here."

"And we have a job to do, whether we like it or not," Jack added, standing up.

"I'll stay," Jason said. "Don't worry, I'll call if I know something, but like I said before, we have to wait for the seventy-two hours to pass in order to have a better prognosis."

"Sure," Alex said. "Let's go Patrick, I've asked for several days. Are you still living in the boss' home or are you living by yourself?" he asked smirking.

Patrick frowned. "Of course I live by myself, who do you think you're talking to?"

Alex laughed and Patrick as well as they left together. It was as if the argument they'd had, had never occurred.

Jack observed them and couldn't help but think about the way Danny treated Martin. Not that Patrick and Martin had something in common…curious group. He remembered that Patrick had talked about the connection he had with Danny. The confidence, he understood now, and that's because Danny knew Patrick very well.

Shaking hands with Jason, all of them asked him to take care of their colleague and left, slowly, not wanting to leave, but they couldn't do anything else and the other ICU patients' families, and friends, looked a space in that waiting room to sit, a wait that you never knew how long would last or how it would end.


	16. Chapter 16

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 16**

Three days and Patrick couldn't understand how Jack Malone's team, Danny's colleagues, were able to work intensively on a case that got the best of them. Since the short time he'd been working there, the job had been almost an office matter, but he now understood that was the exception and came after some really hard days of searching, interviews, hesitation, frustration, new leads and finding someone who you never knew whether you'd find alive or not. He wondered who would ask for him. He didn't find an answer. Moving his head, lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize Tom staring at him. "I have to find someone. I'll get married. I'll have ten children." He stated aloud, earning him a laugh from his partner that made him blush. "I'll also have to stop the bad habit of thinking aloud." He added, finally smiling. 'I wonder what kind of father I'd be' he asked himself not finding a valid example. He felt ridiculous thinking about Jason Díaz, even though maybe Danny would have that kind of relationship with Jack Malone. But he didn't know any of them in that way, they only were older than him. He was surely completely wrong. "How do you know if you're going to be a good father?" he wondered, but once again, aloud.

"You don't know," Tom replied. "First, you don't believe it, you feel happy but at the same time it seems surreal. Then, you go with your wife to the doctor and hear the sound of your baby's heart and you freeze. Believe me. You start realizing that you're going to have a baby. When you finally see your baby, that's when you know."

"Do you have children, Tom?"

"Three." The man smiled showing him a picture he kept in his pocket. "But you need to find your woman first. That's the difficult part, especially having a job like ours, that sometimes takes over our social life. But everything is possible."

Fortunately, Jason had spent all the time in the hospital, being occasionally relieved by any of them passing by for a moment. After three days, Danny was still unconscious, which it wasn't wrong at all. However, the test results were positive and the wounds were healing slowly but well.

The report for the last case they were working were put on hold, from the moment Jason called Jack. Now in the hospital, they could only wait for the doctor treating Danny to come out of the ICU and tell them something, something Jason had already anticipated could be hopeful. Feeling relief, however, they wanted to know from the doctor what was going on.

"Hi Jason," Jack greeted approaching and shaking his hands. "Is there anything new?"

"The doctor is with him right now. She told me she'd talk to us," Jason said. "I've been… reading the test results and I think there's a reason to be optimistic, but we should wait to hear form her, of course."

"You're a doctor…" Sam started.

"Yes, but I don't have all the information to make a prognosis. I'm a doctor, but I'm not his doctor at this moment," he clarified.

"I hate this place," Martin muttered. "I wonder when we can see him, I mean, talk to him…"

"Yes, hearing him protesting over everything, running everywhere, making jokes…" Vivian added.

Patrick and Alex exchanged a strange look. That wasn't the Danny they had met. Alex was going to say something, but looked over and saw Jason's warning glance, which made him be careful with his words. "He was different with us…" he began.

"Yes, starting with his name, Diego, and we believing he didn't understand a word of English," Patrick continued. "But yes, he was…more careful, he didn't say much, keeping his thoughts to himself…" he said and remained thoughtful.

Nobody said a word, but to Jack and Vivian, to Sam and Martin, Patrick's words gave them a good idea about the tension and responsibility their friend had dealt with for so long. Now, Martin exactly understood the words his friend had told him, right before going back home, the last time he had seen him, several days earlier. He squeezed his fists in rage and he only relaxed when Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

"Here comes the doctor," Jack finally announced, standing up and trying to anticipate any news by reading her expression. But doctors always bore the same unreadable expression that made you believe that you were going to be told the worst possible news.

But that wasn't what she told them. "Today, I can tell you that his condition is improving favorably. Several minutes ago we removed the breathing tube and we're lowering the levels of sedation. Although we have to wait to see how he responds and he's still remaining in the ICU, my opinion is positive."

"Is he awake?" Martin said.

"No, it's too soon for that. We need to wake him up slowly. Sometimes, patients get anxious while reducing the sedation. Especially for him, who's lived a very traumatic situation, we need to be extremely cautious. Right now, we're waking him, little by little. He's identifying feelings, his situation, slowly. Time in his favor, we don't need to rush things."

"If he's waking up, it'd help him to see a familiar face," Jack said.

She nodded. "Yes, doctor Diaz can stay as long as he wants, it will do Agent Taylor well. And you can go in to see him in short intervals. When he's out of the ICU, it'll be not only because he's feeling better but you also will have more space and privacy to stay with him longer. But here now, we can't do that. I understand your concern, but your friend is well."

"All right," Jack agreed. "Then, we'll keep doing the same thing we've been doing until now. Thanks doctor."

"You're welcome. It's good news, but as I'll tell him when I have the chance, give him time. Stay with him, but give him time." She said.

Jason stared intently toward the floor, a gesture everyone noticed.

While the others left, Jack stayed behind and when he was out of the view of the others, he gestured to Jason before he could leave to the ICU where Danny rested.

"I'd like you to be honest with me Jason. I've observed the doctor's comments and the gesture you made. And I remember the way you talked with the doctor in the hospital when we left Langley."

Jason looked at him uncertain.

"I don't want to imagine something that didn't happen, do you understand me? I won't tell anybody what you tell me, but I need to know what happened to him."

"Danny didn't want me to tell anyone. Nobody knows, except me, and the doctors, of course."

"I won't tell him, but knowing what happened to him, will help me to help him." Jack insisted.

"All right. It happened in prison, at least one time, the last time before we were leaving. That day, he received a terrible beating. They didn't find anything wrong in Guantanamo when the doctors examined his injuries, but the report says that he had suffered tears made by some… tool… a nightstick… a stick… you know," Jason explained very uncomfortably.

Jack nodded, closing his eyes for a second.

"This time, the beating was similar, even though it was aggravated by the previous situation he was in. Aside from the hypothermia, and the water he swallowed…they…they found traces of semen in his throat…" Jason cleared his throat before adding… "as well."

Jack looked at him horrified.

"The beatings he suffered and the defensive wounds, along with the semen that was found has given us information about who was involved. I've sent it to Langley, to Robert Conrad." Jason said. "I didn't like to do it, but I think they have enough information to arrest those people and make justice for what Danny suffered. I'm sure they are Miranda's people; people like the ones who beat him during our captivity in the island."

"We also have information we got in Danny's apartment and the descriptions Rafael, Danny's brother, detailed to the sketch artist. I'll send them to Conrad," Jack agreed.

"Danny won't tell you anything. He never talked to me, even though it was evident I knew. I don't know if that's good or not, but that's his option. In my opinion, he was doing well and his explanation had meaning. Then, he wrote that plan including the risk, although it was worst later, mainly because of all the time we spent in the prison and what happened that last day. He told me he was prepared for it. Conrad taught him how to do it and worked with him personally. Maybe it worked then but now…I'm not so sure now."

"I understand," Jack said. "Thanks so much for telling me, Jason. If something happens, at least I have more information to work with him."

"I hope it won't happen," Jason said. "Do you want to see him?"

"Of course," Jack agreed. Both men headed to the ICU and while Jason stayed outside, Jack walked into Danny's room, at the end of the corridor. As he did, he was thinking about what Jason had just told him and he wondered how Danny would deal with that situation. He decided he wouldn't say a word, he'd give him time and space, as the doctor had ordered. Moving the curtain aside, seeing him still weak, thin, with his eyes closed, sleeping but not that much and without the breathing tube, was a relief. It was a miracle he was alive, a miracle he was already getting better.

Sitting down beside him, he observed the small crucifix Jason had left on the bedside, although he didn't take it. He had too many problems with God and he thought anyway, that the crucifix and chain was a special connection only between Jason Díaz and Danny.

He didn't know what to say. He only hoped Danny opened his eyes, looked at him, smiled and made a joke, like Vivian had described some time earlier. And protesting, of course. But none of that happened and once again, like every time he visited him, the tears filled his eyes. Thinking about the unfairness of his situation, the uselessness of his suffering. When he left, he hadn't been able to say a word, he just held Danny's hand and squeezed affectionately before leaving.

Jason palmed his back and went with him to the elevator. Neither of them said a word, until they were there. "I'll be here until he wakes up. Then, I'll go back to Orlando, I have work there and they need me. But I won't leave before he wakes up."

Jack nodded. "Thanks, that'll mean a lot to him."

…..

**FBI headquarters, New York. October, 24. 2006**

Danny came out of the elevator with an idea in his mind about the case they were working on. Walking fast toward the bullpen to check on that idea, on his way a woman joined him, clearly invading his personal space. The perfume permeated all around and made him blink. She smiled, "Agent Taylor, aren't you?"

"Yes, who are you?" he asked even guessing who could be that woman.

She looked at him, clearly flirting. "I've come to give you a report that you'll find very interesting. It's been an exhausting trip, I haven't even had time to go home to primp," she continued trying to look exhausted and waving her hair in a ridiculous way that made Danny nearly laugh.

Danny suddenly felt uncomfortable with that woman who made him nearly fall down as he entered the bullpen, calling the attention of the people they met along their way, his colleagues included.

He headed to his desk, surprised to noticed how she followed him and still invaded his personal space. So he abruptly stopped and turned to her.

"Excuse me, would you mind stop flirting with me?" he asked.

But she only smiled.

"I'm out of your radar," he continued, in a clearly annoyed tone.

Sam smiled amused. Martin frowned, thinking that he wouldn't mind if that woman would flirt with him, although certainly not there. Vivian stayed observing and Jack, who was writing something on the whiteboard became curious.

"Oh, you're married, right?" She tried, still smiling.

He didn't say a word so she continued. "How many children do you have?" she asked.

"Three," he replied without thinking.

"Well…I don't know what Bob was thinking when he recruited you."

That sentence cut Sam's smile and all of them paid attention a different way. If they had seen Danny's face at that moment, they would have seen ice in his eyes.

She blinked at the intensity of Danny's dark eyes and she almost muttered a "I'm sorry."

"I've told you I'm out of your radar. I'm gay. What do you want from me?" Danny asked in as serious tone as exasperated.

"Wow, that explains a lot!" she exclaimed with a smile.

Danny had turned pale; the joke had turned wrong. Only Jack understood that woman's exclamation like nobody else, maybe Patrick as well, who had approached them and looked at him with a weird expression. Who was that woman? That question was answered by Danny, then.

"Mrs. Torres, I have a lot work to do and you're wasting my time."

"How do you know my name?" She asked surprised.

"Seeing the face my partner has put. He's behind you and he's an open book to me." He replied.

Patrick was behind her making gestures to Danny, even though he had already realized who that woman was. She had to be Clara Torres. What she was doing there, he ignored it, but he wasn't going to let the nightmare start again. Never again.

She turned to Patrick and stifled an exclamation. "Tony!". She turned back to Danny who was now smiling amused as she blushed. "Fine, here you go. It's the report about Eleanor and Patricia Diaz's death," she explained Danny handing him a folder. "Aren't you going to open it?" she waited.

"No," he replied. His seriousness intimidated the young woman who had forgotten the flirting game and smiling and she only seemed to want to leave that place.

"I had been told you were…different," she said. "It's up to you now to inform Mr. Diaz about the result of this investigation."

"Did you lead it?" Danny asked.

"Since you refused," she replied with a grimace. "Well, I'm leaving, I'll let you get back to work," she added, turning and started walking toward the exit.

"Mrs. Torres," he called. She turned back. "Is it true that Luis García is your cousin? Or was he your boyfriend?" he asked.

"Ehm… yes, he's… he's my cousin," she said doubting for a second.

Danny nodded. "Tell your brother Carlos that I have something his."

She started to open her mouth, but then decided it would be better to remain silent about that matter. "I wish you well, Agent Taylor," she said and left quickly.

"Who was that woman?" Martin asked approaching him.

"Clara Torres," Patrick replied. "How dare she show up here like that. But you did fine, Danny. Damn it, how could I have gotten involved with that woman…"

Martin smirked at him and Patrick laughed.

Danny had sat down and opened the folder Clara Torres had given him, not paying attention to Patrick's comment. The first thing he found was two photographs of Jason's wife and his daughter. His wife wore a necklace with a discrete crucifix made of silver. Danny instinctively moved his hand to the chain he wore now. Closing the folder, he turned to the whiteboard, looking at the picture of the young man they were searching for, trying to remember the idea he had in mind when he came out of the elevator.

"What's going on?" Vivian asked, at his frustrated expression.

"I came in with an idea in my mind and now…I can't remember it," he said. "Damn woman,"

"Relax, everything has its time," she encouraged him. "You'll remember when you least expect it."

He didn't remember but they found the young man hours later, in the night, walking, disoriented, absentminded, lost. Only the empty suitcase he carried with him looked to be the key to the assault he had suffered. But that part of the investigation wasn't their business and Danny welcomed the end of a long day of nonstop work.

The sun was rising when he got out of the cab, near his home, but instead of going toward it, he went into a nearby café and asked for a coffee and a brownie that he suddenly felt like eating. Or it was that they put it in front of him and he didn't realize. Turning to look for a sugar packet, he found Martin, smiling beside him with another coffee and a big croissant. His friend's appetite was well known in the office. Martin was only celebrating one thing. He only expected that Danny would bite into that brownie. And Danny knew that.

"Let's go to a table," he said.

"What are you going to do today?" Martin asked, grabbing his croissant.

"Having breakfast, going home, taking a shower. Sleep, if my neighbors let me…" Danny related the plan as if it were the shopping list, making his partner blush.

"All right, it's not my business," Martin said. "But, speaking of neighbors, have you thought about moving?"

"No, yes…I don't know, Martin. Maybe," Danny replied. "What's going on? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Martin gestured to the brownie with his eyes. "Eat," he asked.

"Okay," Danny agreed with a grimace. Actually, he felt grateful to his colleagues for what they were doing for him, even if it sometimes felt stifling.

….


	17. Chapter 17

**Who, How, When, Where, Why? Chapter 17**

**October, 25. 2006. Orlando, Florida**

Danny approached the information desk and found that Pediatric Department was in the fourth floor. Looking at the time he had arrived, he thought that maybe it would have been a good idea to call ahead, but he hadn't done that and he was already there. So, he went upstairs, approached the front desk and asked for him.

"Doctor Diaz is treating patients right now," he was told, after looking at his schedule in the computer.

"And, when will he be finished?" He asked.

"Let me see…at…at seven o'clock."

"Two hours," he calculated. "Can I wait…?"

He was directed to a waiting room, where several kids with their parents waited to be attended, some of them playing with something, while their parents scolded them to stay quiet. "Maybe you'd prefer walk around and come back later. I'll tell him that you're, if you'd like."

"Sure, tell him to wait for me. I'll be here in two hours. My name's Danny Taylor. Uhm...is there any quiet place to wait around?"

"There's a library two blocks from here. I'll tell you where."

Danny left the hospital, and looking around, he identified the address he had been given.

In the library, he found a quiet place where he sat to read once again the report he had for Jason. He had in mind to explain to him the general aspects of the investigation and give him the report, and he also didn't want to forget what he wanted to tell him.

At least, he was sure that the investigation had been well done, as Jack had confirmed hours earlier.

_Flashback_

_Knocking on the door, Danny went into the office when Jack raised his sight from the papers he was reading. There was nobody at the office, everyone had left once the case they had been working, had concluded. Danny had left as well, but after saying goodbye to Martin at the café, resting several hours and taking a shower, it was impossible to get some sleep, so he hadn't had anything better to do. Clara Torres had given him that report and he had barely read it. He needed someone objective to validate it. And he knew that Jack would be in the office._

"_What are you doing here?" Jack asked surprised._

"_I could ask you the same," Danny warned him, setting the folder on Jack's desk. "I'd like you to take a look. It's…it's one of the things Jason asked me to do. His wife and daughter died during a fire in their home, eight years ago. They closed the case like a domestic incident, but Jason thinks there was more to it."_

"_Eight years," Jack said. "That's a long time."_

"_Yes, I've gone over it, it looks like good work, but I'd like to have your opinion before giving it to him."_

_Jack took the folder and opened it, finding Eleanor and Patricia's pictures. "God," he muttered, observing the following pictures, the burnt bodies, the ruined house. He had also seen the crucifix Eleanor wore, the same one he had seen at the hospital. He wondered if Jason had given it to Danny. "Don't show him the photographs of the bodies," he warned Danny._

"_Of course not. In fact, I'll remove them from the dossier. I thought about explaining to him the results of the investigation while skipping the gruesome details, even though I'm afraid he'll want to keep the report."_

"_Don't you need to take it back?" Jack asked frowning._

"_Nobody's told me that I have to give it back."_

"_Robert Conrad ordered this investigation to be opened," Jack read. "Why did Clara Torres tell you that you refused to do it?"_

"_When Conrad told me that I had the supervisor job wherever I wanted, I told him no, that I just wanted to come back here. He suggested that as a supervisor I could investigate this case, directly, and I refused it," Danny explained. Jack looked at him for a second. "It's Jason's family…I don't think it would be right."_

"_But now you have to explain it to him, give him the information," Jack said grimacing. "When are you leaving?"_

"_The sooner the better,"_

"_Yes, I think so…eh…how are you doing?" Jack thought it would be a good moment to ask._

"_You tell me," Danny smiled. "You don't leave me alone for even a second."_

"_You noticed," Jack smiled as well. "Any news from Conrad?"_

"_I know that he was in the hospital, talked to Jason, they argued, of course, and he left. I didn't know then, he told me later."_

_Jack nodded. "You hadn't woken up then."_

"_No." Danny felt a knot in his throat._

"_We… we sent the evidence we found in your apartment to find the people who assaulted you. Jason did the same with the medical reports," Jack commented. "It's not my taste, but Robert Conrad had more information to catch those people."_

"_I didn't know," Danny replied, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden._

_Jack noticed the change in Danny's behavior. "Don't worry, Danny. It's time to move on. You haven't told me how are you doing."_

"_Yes, ehm...better, I'm feeling better," he said standing up. "Will you tell me about this?"_

"_Sure, I'm going to read it carefully. Listen Danny, I'd like you to consider seeing someone, I mean a professional. I know someone who could help you. She's not from the FBI, do you understand me?" Jack gave him a card._

_Danny read the name. So, Jack knew what he didn't want to tell anyone. Jason had probably told him._

"_Thanks," he muttered. "But I'm fine."_

"_She's a good friend, and I know that she could help you. Now you're fine, but if at any time you need it, she's someone you can count on, alright?"_

"_Sure," he said, putting the card in his pocket._

_End of flashback_

Jason had said goodbye to his patient and was reading the list for the next one, when his phone started ringing. "Doctor Diaz, you asked me to tell you when the person who left the message arrived. He's in the waiting room."

"Thanks," he said and cutting the call, he dialed another number. "Anna? Would you mind treating my last patients, I have to go…okay, thanks, I'll wait for you."

Standing up, he ordered the files for the three patients to be treated by his partner, took off the gown and grabbed his briefcase. He was curious about what Danny was doing there, he didn't even call. He was also curious to see how he was doing. In the months that had passed, Jason was able to move on with his life and forget what he and the others had gone through, but he didn't know what had happened to Danny. He had barely known anything since he'd left New York, once Danny started recovering.

Opening the door, he couldn't help but smile at seeing Danny making funny faces to a child that a few seconds earlier was crying and now burst into laughter.

"Danny!" he called his attention.

He offered his hand but as soon Danny approached him, he hugged him. "It's been so long, man! Hey…how are you doing?" he asked.

"Fine, fine," Danny smiled. "You wondering why I've come here. Is there any place we can talk quietly?"

"Of course, let's go." Jason said.

Danny followed him to the garage and Jason invited him to get into his car. "You'll have dinner with us. You can, can't you? When do you have to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Danny replied.

"Great, so you stay at my house," Jason said in a tone that Danny couldn't say no to.

Danny was impressed by the house Jason had recently bought. "We're decorating it…well, Laura is decorating it, she's the expert." Jason explained.

"Laura," Danny repeated.

"Yes…despite everything that happened, I didn't lose her. It's like… like a second opportunity. I know that I won't forget Eleanor or Patricia, they are part of my life, of my past. This…this is something different and we are both in a hurry," he said smiling.

"Come in," he added, after opening the door. "Laura, look who's here!" he called.

Danny went into the house. "It's…it's dazzling," he said observing the crystal walls offering a spectacular view over the garden and made the wide living room a very comfortable place. Danny couldn't help but looking around in surprise, to finally find the funny face of Jason. "Take a seat," he said pointing the warm couch, and made him remember why he was there.

He hadn't sat down when Laura Duke came into the living room. She looked at Jason confused, she really expected to see some friend. "Laura, this is my friend Danny Taylor," he said.

"Ah, you're Danny, I've heard so much about you from Jason! Of course, I didn't recognize you, I saw you in…in Washington, but only one moment and you were…different."

"Yes he was," Jason said. "I've invited Danny to have dinner with us and if he wants, he can stay here. As you can see, there's enough room."

"Of course," she said. "How long are you going to stay in Orlando?" She asked.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I only came to give Jason some things. Something he asked me to do." Danny said.

"Great. Well…" Laura looked at the time. "You've arrived early. I have to finish the patterns that I was cutting. I'll finish it and then we'll have dinner. That way you can talk without anybody around."

Laura disappeared and Danny took a seat, finally. He extracted from his bag the folder with the information for Jason and gave it to him. He had taken the precaution of removing some photographs, although the pictures of the burned house were still there.

Jason stood up with the report in his hands, and opened it with trembling hands. His glossy eyes told Danny that the memories were still alive and painful. "You were right, Jason, it wasn't a simple domestic accident."

"I knew it," he said. "Eleanor was very careful," he muttered.

"You don't need to read it. If you want, I can tell you. But you can keep it," Danny said but Jason didn't seem to hear him.

After a moment, he closed the folder and put it on the table. "Thanks. I suppose it was complicated to do this." He added.

"Actually, I didn't, although they asked me to. Robert Conrad asked me to do it, but I said no," Danny didn't tell him that Clara Torres had participated in that investigation.

"And you…what do you think?"

"I think it's a rigorous investigation. Now it's difficult, after such a long time, to collect evidence that will be useful in a trial or catching the killers, but you can have an idea about what happened. I don't know if it helps you, Jason, but…at least you have the truth." Danny replied.

Jason nodded. "Do you know anything from Patrick or Alex?"

"Jason, I…I think I have something of yours," Danny started removing the necklace, but Jason placed a hand on his, stopping him. "No, it's yours. I want you to have it, Danny."

"But…" Danny began.

"No buts, Danny. I spent too many days with that crucifix in your hands and your hands in mine, hoping that you'd recover even when the doctors didn't hold out any hope for you. It's yours." Jason explained.

"All right," Danny muttered. "Thanks, it means a lot to me, Jason."

"I know. You haven't answered my question."

"Patrick's fine. He's working in the Missing Persons unit in New York, with me, like he wanted, and he's doing great. I think he's happy and even has a girlfriend. He wants to get married and have ten children. I don't know what she thinks." He explained.

Jason burst into laughter. "Oh, so Patrick is growing up."

"Yes, well, he's learning." Danny said.

"But you understand him well." Jason said. "You have that skill with people, Danny."

"With some people, yes. I know what Patrick went through, we have some common experiences very important in life and well…"

"You also connected with Alex."

"Yes."

Both remained silent for a second.

"He's in the explosives division," Danny explained. "It's what he liked. The last time I heard from him, he was going to Texas…I think."

"And, what about you?" Jason asked.

Danny looked at him speechless.

"Danny, you have to move on, alright? I know it's difficult for you, but this life has a lot of opportunities waiting for you to take. Don't let what happened to you ruin your life." Jason warned.

Danny nodded.

"Have you asked for help?" Jason asked.

"I have it. My colleagues always keep an eye on me," he replied with a grimace.

"I don't mean that," Jason said. "I mean the other thing."

"Yes, well…Jack gave me a card yesterday…"

"Yesterday."

"Yes, I…I don't know. I thought I was doing fine, but now, looking at you, thinking about Patrick or Alex…I don't know, I'm not that sure."

"You could try," he said. "Listen, help me to prepare the dinner, alright?"

"Sure," Danny said feeling relieved to change the subject and ease the tension.

The dinner was pleasant; Jason was very lucky having found a woman like Laura, Danny thought. He didn't know Eleanor, but the confidence between Jason and Laura was perfect. He wondered if he would ever feel that someday.

"You can't imagine the shock in his face when Jason watched that man talking about you all," Laura was talking about the press conference the CIA had given two months earlier.

"Yes, I can. The same thing happened to us, as well," Danny said remembering that moment.

_Flashback_

_Patrick hadn't lost the habit during his stay in the house in Washington and always had a moment for the Channel 4 newscast at 10:30AM._

_His surprise increased when he realized the news they were talking about. He left his office running, making gestures to Danny, which made everybody pay attention. Danny frowned while Patrick looked for a remote. When he finally found it and connected the channel, everyone could see the CIA Director giving up the word to someone very familiar to Danny and Jack. Beside him, General Moore and another man they couldn't identify, waited for Robert Conrad to talk._

"_Good morning," Conrad began, as on the screen they could read the position he held in the CIA. "Like you've been explained, this has been a joint operation we've been running for a long time. The success of it, we owe to the dedication of our people and the excellent coordination with the military, the DEA, National Security and the FBI. The number of arrests at this moment is thirty-two individuals, ending one of the most active gangs of cocaine traffickers in the last several years. As you know, this is a target our government pointed as essential during this time. I also want to express my gratitude for the collaboration by the DEA undercover agents, the military soldiers that participated in this operation."_

_He stopped for a few seconds before continuing, in which Patrick took the time to comment, "I don't see Miranda anywhere."_

"_No," Danny confirmed. "He must be arrested. But the one beside Conrad has to be Carlos Torres." They both exchanged a look for a second._

"_I also want to make public our gratitude to four people who definitively contributed to the conclusion of this operation. Although for security reasons I can't mention their real names, I want congratulate Miguel, Javier, Tony and their operation's boss, Diego, who sacrificed and risked their lives with a job that, like I said, was definitive."_

"_It seems we can go home now," Patrick said feeling embarrassed. At that moment, only Danny understood the meaning behind his words._

"_It's a good thing we didn't wait," Danny said. "Okay, let's get back to work," he added, while the others looked at him in surprise._

"_He was talking about you, wasn't he?" Sam asked. "Did you hear what he said? Do you know how valuable that is?"_

_Danny shrugged his shoulders. Neither Danny nor Patrick could avoid the congratulations from their colleagues, several times along the day, trying to convince them that they deserved some kind of celebration. Although they didn't feel like that._

_End of flashback_

"Yes, I suppose it was the least that Conrad could've said," Jason said with a smile.

"It's clear it was important what you did," Laura said. "Although, I admit that when Jason called me to say he was leaving when our relationship had just begun, I was furious. If you had told me something…"

"I told you I didn't know what was going on," he said, squeezing her hand affectionately.

"And you, did you know anything?" She asked Danny.

"Something, yes. I had to lead the group," he replied.

"But, how did you accept something so complicated and risk your life?" She asked, curious. "How does that work? Do they call, tell you to come and put your life in danger, so you have to accept? No…don't misunderstand me, it's just…it's curiosity." Laura realized she had said something wrong when she noticed Danny's expression at that moment.

"Well, it's true that they put a lot of pressure to accept…a lot. There are some factors that cause the decisions a person makes and at that moment, my options were short." He explained.

"I hope the economic gratifications are enough to balance your sacrifice and the definite work you did, like that man said in the press conference." She said.

"Of course," Jason said. "Well' let's pick up all of this," he added standing up. He wasn't going to upset Laura, but he knew that Danny wasn't feeling especially comfortable with that conversation. It wasn't her fault; what could Laura know, what could anybody know.

Danny stood up, feeling grateful that the conversation was over.

…..

"I have the feeling I said something wrong," Laura whispered, cuddling against Jason.

"Don't worry, it's nothing," Jason replied.

"I only wanted to be nice," she said, "but his expression is so…"

"Honey…" he began.

"Sad," she concluded.

"He'll get over it; he just needs time. That's all. If he had someone like you with him…" he said kissing her then.

"Why did he come?" She asked.

"He came to give me the results of the investigation into Eleanor and Patricia's death." He explained to her. "It was one of my requests, aside from everything that I got for the pediatric unit."

"And, what did it say?"

"I haven't read much, but it's clear that it wasn't a carelessness of my wife or a mischief of my daughter," he said. "It was a robbery," he just concluded.

…

**New York, November 2006**

"Hey, Danny," Patrick almost whispered, joining him on his way. "How should I go to her home, elegant, casual?"

Danny looked at him confused.

"I was invited to her parent's house for Thanksgiving."

"Ah, I understand. I don't know, it depends, not too elegant, not too casual," Danny replied remembering the invitation of a friend the previous year. "You just smile, be kind, especially with her mother…I don't know, Patrick!"

"I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Danny stopped. "Oh…that's not a good idea Patrick, not that day or before her family. No, no way. Don't do that. If you want, you ask her before or at another moment. You'd be forcing the situation."

"So, you think it's better doing it privately," Patrick frowned.

"Yes. Are you actually going to marry her?" Danny asked.

Patrick stared at him. "I'd like to, yes. Why?"

"Why don't you ask Jason? He's more experienced than me," Danny smiled. "Listen, I have work to do, but call Jason. Trust me. But," he looked at the time, "I'd like you to see something with me. This afternoon, at half past five."

"Sure," Patrick agreed.

Both friends went their separate ways.

Patrick was going to get married, Jason almost was, Sam and Martin exchanged loving glances, what was happening?

…..

"So, what do you think?" Danny asked.

Patrick shook his head. "What is this?" He asked.

"I haven't made a decision yet. I wanted to know your opinion."

"To start… it's a twenty-third floor. And I've already gone upstairs the five floors of your building on foot." Patrick said.

"This elevator doesn't look like it would break down like the other one," Danny objected.

"It has beautiful views. It's Manhattan. It's closer to work. Danny, this is a bachelor's apartment. And it's not Queens…this is too radical. No. You need a house, one of those with a garden and a garage for the car…"

"The sprinkler and the dog…" Danny continued.

"Exactly, especially the dog. It's said that going on walks with the dog is a good way to pick up women," Patrick said.

"Do you have a dog?" Danny asked.

"No…I was running through Central Park, Susan lost the leash…it was only an angry Yorkshire," Patrick smiled.

"Then…"

"No, this definitely isn't for you." Patrick told him.

"But I'm not going to buy a house with garden. It's too much for me," Danny warned.

"Are you really serious, you're moving?" Patrick asked. "That's a big change."

"I know, that's why I wanted your opinion," Danny said.

"Sure," Patrick said, remembering the small box he'd found under his bed. "You should look for someone, I'm serious, Danny. I was…I was like you, I thought like you, but listen, now that I'm with Susie, it's…I don't know, I can't describe it."

"You're in love with her," Danny concluded. "And I'm glad for you. All right, I don't like it either… the house from Washington could work out. I saw one similar last week."

"Yeah, maybe it would be good, and I suppose you can afford it with your salary."

"I'll show it to you. I think we're still on time. Let's go," Danny said pulling him out of that apartment.

"This is better," Patrick commented, when they started crossing the bridge heading to Queens. That's your neighborhood, and there's no reason you should leave it."

When Danny stopped the car in front of the house he had been talking about, Patrick could see that, at least, on the exterior appearance, it was similar to the house in Washington. However, that row of similar-styled houses along the street, had nothing to do with Danny's style.

"I think I like your old apartment," he concluded.

"All right," Danny said sighing. "The truth is that I don't know what to look for."

"You should find someone to share it with first. Then, rather than me, you bring her along to give you an opinion. Maybe that will work out." Patrick suggested. "Come one, when was the last time you went out on a date? At least one year or more, because ever since I've known you, I've never once seen you with a woman."

"It's… complicated," Danny said avoiding his eyes.

"Listen Danny. I'm not Jason or Alex, I don't consider myself smart enough to give certain advice but I know something about this. Danny, you have to move on. If you don't do it, you won't be happy, you won't find a place for you and God knows that you deserve one," Patrick was serious, too serious. "Don't let Conrad or any of the letters he represents, defeat you."

"I don't know how to do it," Danny said.

"The same way you did it before Conrad sent you that damn letter. And rumor has it you were pretty damn good at it." Patrick smiled.

"It's not the same anymore," Danny muttered, lowering his head. He didn't want to cry, much less before Patrick and he made a big effort to avoid it, but Patrick squeezed his shoulders and his strengths broke into pieces. He didn't want to ask Patrick for help but he was the only one who could understand him, just as he had told Martin one day, when Martin tried to drink glass of water and pills for his headache.

Maybe he needs time, Patrick thought. More time. "Are you seeing someone, Danny?"

He shook his head. "Jack told me about someone, he gave me her phone number but…I don't know what to say."

"It isn't easy to talk about what happened to you. It's the strange thoughts, the shame and the stigma, but whatever's inside of you, you should put it aside. It happened and period. It's not time to think if you could've avoided it, if you were weak, or if you didn't find any way to escape. It's not even time to think if you enjoyed it somewhat." Patrick stopped, noticing Danny's eyes on his. But he smiled, he hadn't gone too far and he knew it. "That happens as well, Danny. And you don't know at what point you are."

"Damn it, Patrick," he grumbled, trying to wipe his tears.

"Go home, seek help. There will be enough time to move to a new house, but you must solve this matter before or there won't be any house that will make you forget what happened. And you have to move on."

"You're right," Danny said, "but don't go too far."

Patrick laughed. "Aren't you upset that we keep eyes on you all day?"

"No, I'm actually grateful, even if sometimes you go too overboard, especially Martin. Well, do you want me to drop you off somewhere?"

After leaving Patrick in a nearby subway station and parking his car, Danny headed walking to his building. Going inside, he went to the elevator and let two neighbors come out first, greeting him with a smile. Everybody knew each other, it was his home, and it had its characteristics, even if, yes, it was a very old building. Opening the door, he closed and dropped the keys on a table, wondering where he could be better than there. At that moment, he didn't find any. He had rented that apartment at twenty years old and he was still there… and he would, for a while longer. Picking up the card that Jack had given to him, he made a decision. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number on his cell phone and still hesitated before pushing the calling key.

But it was time to move on and like Patrick had said, and not let those letters control his life anymore…although he worked for one of them.

He smiled. And pushed that key.

END

Note: Thanks so much to Wildlightning for helping me with the translation of this story.


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